Resolution
by Frances Potter
Summary: PLEASE NOTE THAT THIS STORY IS A WORK IN PROGRESS. Due to ill-health it hasn't been updated for a very long time. The masterlist can be found here: http://dragon-charmer./242884.html HarryDraco slash.
1. New Year's Eve

**Title: Resolution. Chapter 1: New Year's Eve (1/?)**

**Author name:** Frances Potter

**Author email:** frances@forever.u-net.com

**Category: **Slash (Harry/Draco), Humour, Romance, Angst

**Keywords:** Harry, Draco, 7th year, Slash

**Spoilers:** All books

**Rating:** PG, Slash overtones. Forecast: Slash becoming stronger, possibly PG13.

**Summary: **res·o·lu·tion, noun -- solving of doubts, problems, questions etc. _The Concise Oxford Dictionary_

When you've spent six years fighting evil, all you really want is a quiet time. But when your name is Harry Potter the chances of that are very slim. A series of vignettes chronicling Harry's final six months at Hogwarts. Exams, friends, lovers, Quidditch, the war and Draco all conspire to make the year end seem a very long way away. Slash (Harry/Draco)

**Chapter 1: New Year's Eve: **When Draco decides to go skiing, he doesn't plan on spending the night away from Hogwarts, but then it starts snowing again. Meanwhile, Harry wants nothing but a quiet New Year on his own.

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Dedication: **This chapter is dedicated to **_Lynn_**, whose hard work and dedication has helped create the heart and soul of this story. 

Lynn actually deserves joint authorship on this chapter. She has guided me through the conception and birth of this story and it belongs to her as much as it does to me. Thank you Lynn. 

--------------------

Resolution Chapter 1: New Year's Eve 

It had been snowing all night, but the rising sun had crested over the mountains to greet a glorious New Year's Eve day complete with a cloudless blue sky stretching from horizon to horizon. Cold, crisp air greeted him as he opened the carved entrance doors of the castle, the sort of air that took his breath away as it touched deep into his lungs. The shock of the cold made him cough, breath condensing into white mist before him. 

He stood for a moment on the steps, looking across the expanse of the school grounds. The snow formed a near-perfect, untouched carpet, stretching into the distance. Here and there, the tracks of an animal marred the white perfection, but for the moment, he felt like he was the only person in the whole universe. 

Wrapping his green and silver Slytherin scarf around his neck, Draco Malfoy carried the long cross-country skis down the steps and laid them side-by-side on the snow. His ski boots clipped easily into the toe bindings, leaving the heel free, and he quickly checked that everything was secure. He put on a hat, tucking in his blond hair, and pulled on a pair of gloves. Then, picking up the thin, lightweight ski poles, he slid his gloved hands through the pole straps and pushed off across the virgin snow. Dressed in the new yellow and red ski gear his parents had given him for Christmas, Draco wondered whether anyone in the castle was watching him. He exaggerated a few twists and turns, deliberately flaunting his skills.

He loved skiing and had been a regular on the slopes of the Swiss ski resort where the Malfoys had their winter retreat since he was old enough to walk on his own. Downhill was fine, but what really got him going was cross-country. Being able to get away from the crowded slopes gave him a freedom he had never managed to achieve anywhere else. Fortunately his parents much preferred downhill skiing, and so they never wanted to accompany their wayward son on his cross-country jaunts over the snowfields.

Of course, they were in Switzerland now, while he was stuck spending Christmas and New Year at Hogwarts. It was a punishment, his father had told him, because of the number of detentions he had received since starting his seventh year. Three didn't seem that many to Draco, especially when, as far as he was concerned, none were actually his fault. 

The castle disappeared from view as he left the grounds and headed out into the surrounding countryside. Cold air brought a pink flush to his face, and he pulled his scarf up around his mouth. 

What he missed most about not going to Switzerland was the New Year Ball. He'd been looking forward to it for months. Last year, at his first Ball, he'd been left with the other younger children; but now at 17, he had expected to sit at the adult tables and get to enjoy the occasion. Damn it, he had been practicing those wretched dance steps all year! And for what? The Hogwarts Yule Ball a few weeks ago hadn't even come close and his fellow pupils were hardly in the same league as the people who would be at the New Year Ball. Big Names within the Wizarding community, and with them, their rich and (hopefully) pretty daughters. 

Still, there would be next year when he would be 18 and ready to be matched with some rich, pretty daughter. And the thought of that almost scared him to death. He was quite happy to play with these daughters for an evening, but to be stuck with one for the rest of his life? 

Lucius was generally very indulgent with his son, but he did expect Draco to make a good marriage match to a woman Lucius found suitable. And that marriage would be sooner rather than later.

Of course, Draco could always refuse, but he suspected that he might find himself thrown out of Malfoy Manor if he did so. And if he had to choose between true love and the Malfoy fortune, Draco knew which he would take. 

The fortune every time. 

His father had high expectations for him. Draco was, after all, the sole heir to the Malfoy fortune and thus was expected to fulfil his role with finesse befitting a Malfoy. He still smarted from the dressing down his father had given him when he had turned up at the school unexpectedly just three weeks ago. Draco had packed and ready to go home for the Christmas break when the house elf arrived in his dorm room with the message. Draco was expected in Snape's office. He remembered checking his watch and cursing under his breath. If he missed the train....

********************

Snape was not there. Draco recognised his father's back instantly. A flash of pleasure ran through the 17-year-old. His father had come to collect him. He would get to spend the journey home with his beloved parent -- get the chance to talk to him.

Draco stepped forward. "Father."

"Stand still."

Draco recognised the tone, and any thoughts of father and son quality time quickly vanished. He froze, but not out of fear. He had never feared his father. What he had was a great respect for the person who was his father, mentor and role model.

Lucius turned, looking at his son with eyes cold with anger. Yes, cold. A misnomer Draco knew. Anger was normally hot; but with his father, it was always like a blast of ice. He looked down at the floor. Lucius' voice matched his eyes and the tone froze Draco into a statue.

What came next was a 20 minutes tirade on Draco's behaviour, his lack of focus in his studies and his constant disrespect for his family and the Malfoy name. When he finished, Lucius looked away and it was as if some spell had been removed from his son.

Draco's head shot up and in the silence that followed, his face exquisitely reflected just how he felt about the scolding. He pouted. He looked indignant. He acted as if betrayed. "It wasn't my fault. He started it..."

"And you made sure you finished it. How many times have I told you to walk away? He is not worth your punishment by these people..." Lucius gave a wide gesture, which encompassed the whole school. "... who think he is a hero."

"But..."

Lucius raised a finger to his own lips, gesturing for silence. He stepped forward and placed a hand on his son's shoulder. "We live in dangerous times, Draco. They are always looking for an excuse to bring us down, to destroy our family and to take away everything we believe in. We... you... MUST be careful not to show weakness. You must start hiding your emotions behind that mask you wear so well and you must walk away from confrontations."

Then it came. The Punishment. "You will not be coming to Switzerland with your mother and myself."

"What?" Any attempt at hiding his emotions disappeared, replaced by the petulant spoilt boy most of his fellow pupils knew. "That is not fair."

The hand dropped from his shoulder. "What isn't fair is that I have to come here to remind you of your responsibilities. What isn't fair is that you don't seem to have listened to anything I have said. You will remain here. You will catch up with your studies and you will make sure you stay out of trouble. If I receive any more negative reports on your behaviour you will remain here until you graduate." Draco started to respond, but Lucius raised his finger again. "And there will be no 18th birthday celebrations. Do I make myself clear?"

Draco tried not to scowl as he met his father's eyes. "Yes, father."

"Good. These next few months will be important, Draco." Hands gripped at his son's shoulders, one on each side. "You are important to our cause, never forget that." He favoured the boy with an indulgent smile. "Now, I have some time. Let's get something to eat." 

********************

Breathless, Draco finally made it up the steep hill, and stopped on the crest. He pulled the scarf away from his face and took off his sunglasses, squinting against the snow glare. Below, the view was stunning. The slope dropped into a valley made featureless by the snow, and in the distance, the smoke from a building was drifting lazily on the breeze. 

His father had stayed for several hours, and Draco had basked in his presence. They had sat in the Great Hall, eating a late breakfast and Draco was very aware of others watching them, whispering words behind their hands. Draco hadn't cared, however. He had soon forgotten the reprimand and was just pleased to be with his father. It had all been so wonderful. 

Then Harry Potter had walked in.

Draco had been sitting with his back to the door, so he didn't see Harry. What he saw was the change of expression on his father's face. Lucius' expression hardened, and the grey eyes, a mirror of his own, glared icily at something behind him. 

Draco had looked over his shoulder. Seen Potter stop in mid-stride under the older man's malevolent stare and meet the ice with his own emerald gaze. Potter had pushed a hand through his long black hair as if to deliberately reveal that wretched scar on his forehead. Then he had smiled. Oh, not a huge grin, but a pleasant upturn of the mouth. Draco saw his father's jaw clench tight. And then the final insult. Potter had nodded his head in a silent 'good morning' before walking away.

So ended the father and son quality time. Lucius had hardly spoken another word and had left his son at Hogwarts while apparating off to the winter slopes with his wife. If it hadn't been for his father's earlier warning, Draco was sure that he would have walked over to Potter and punched the smug git in the face.

His father's words still hurt, even now, weeks later. Oh, he could deal with the cancelled trip and even being stuck here at Hogwarts, but to lose the high opinion his father had of him was the most difficult thing to deal with. It hurt that his father hadn't been in touch with him since that day, and his silence was more of a punishment that any ruined holiday. Lucius knew about reprimands and knew that depriving his son of his contact was much more effective than any form of physical castigation. The fact that his father had left in anger made matters even worse. Before Potter had put on his little show, he and Lucius had been getting on just fine. Draco could almost have believed that his father's reprimand hadn't happened. But afterwards? Draco was sure that was why there had been no word from his father. Lucius was punishing him for Potter's actions.

He would get him, though. Draco mused as he surveyed the world of white surrounding him. He would make Potter pay for ruining everything. And there were ways that didn't involve physical violence.

Taking off one of the gloves, Draco reached for his wand and laid it across his bare palm. "Point me," he intoned and the Four-Point spell made the wand automatically point towards north. The valley lay on an almost north-south line and he knew that Hogwarts lay southwest from his current position.

Satisfied as to his location and direction, Draco put the glove back on and set off down the slope.

Unfortunately he didn't look behind him. If he had, he would have seen the huge, grey, snow-filled clouds creeping ever closer. They had already deposited another couple of inches of snow over the Hogwarts grounds, completely covering any traces of his tracks, and now they looked intent on making sure Draco had a particularly rough time.

********************

Harry Potter was in the middle of a snowstorm as well. His, however, was a mental aberration of his own making. He was sitting at a table, which looked like it had taken the brunt of one of Neville Longbottom's spells. It was untidily covered with countless open books and heaps of parchment rolls.

He picked up one of the half-filled parchments, cursed because it was not the one he wanted, and began rummaging through the others. "I know I wrote it somewhere." 

In exasperation, he swept the rolls into a big heap and tossed them into the air. They fluttered like extremely large snowflakes onto the floor around him. Elbows found a now-clear space, he dropped his head into this hands.

"Bugger."

Harry heaved a deep sigh of annoyance and took of his glasses, dropping them onto the table. One of arms of the glasses ended up in his inkbottle. He stared at the bottle for a long time before tugging at his dark hair, which already stuck out untidily from constant fiddling over the past three hours.

His hair reached to the collar of his robes these days, and was his one real rebellious streak. He had grown it long originally because he just couldn't be bothered to cut it. Then he had found out just how much Uncle Vernon hated longhaired layabouts. Harry had taken great delight in showing up at Privet Drive with his hair a couple of inches longer than its current length. The ensuing fight to cut it off had left both of them and cousin Dudley with black eyes and numerous other contusions.

He plucked the glasses from the bottle and let the black ink drip from the arm. Things were not going well. He stared absently at the ink and decided that 'not going well' was actually an understatement. He was beginning to feel that he was in a nightmare with no chance of waking up. Of course, Hermione would say that it was his own fault for not getting on with his Potions dissertation earlier, but there was always something more important to do. More urgent. More enjoyable. He would get it done over the Christmas break, he had told her. And, of course, he had meant it ... really had planned to set aside the time ... but now he was beginning to panic because the task was rapidly turning into something akin to battling the Dark Lord. 

Harry was convinced that he would fail. He needed a good grade from this paper to be able to sit for the Potions exam, and he needed to pass that exam, along with all the others, in order to graduate. At the moment, it looked to him like The Boy Who Lived would be The Boy Who Failed Spectacularly. Nearly seven years worth of work down the drain just because he couldn't write ten parchments on "Sleeping Draughts - Their Uses and Abuses". It should be so easy actually, but it just wouldn't come together. Every time he tried to check up on the ingredients, each textbook seemed to give a different reason for their use.

Maybe, just maybe, starting from scratch would be a good idea. But he had already spent three days trying to make sense out of the musty old books, struggling to translate their arcane language before even beginning to try and understand what they said.

He shook the remaining ink drops from his glasses, and wiped them with a piece of parchment before sliding them back on.

Getting to his feet, Harry stepped lightly over the scattered parchments and wandered over the wooden floor, with its scattered rugs, to the large inglenook fireplace. It was so big that the mantelpiece running along the front was actually at eyelevel. He rested his hands on the wood and ran his fingers along the grain. It felt warm to his touch, heated from the grate below where the logs burned merrily before him.

Harry was pleased to be in the cosy little cottage which Hagrid had acquired a little over a year ago. Situated about a mile from Hogsmeade, it was too far from Hogwarts for Hagrid to use it all the time, but the half-giant was more than happy for Harry to use the single-storey building whenever he wanted time away from the castle. Those excursions had became more and more frequent just recently. For some reason Harry felt a need for solitude on occasions, something just not possible within the confines of the school. 

And he was glad to be studying here rather than in the Gryffindor common room or any of the classrooms, all of which were empty during the holiday break. There were so many people spending Christmas and New Year at the school this year, it seemed like half the school had decided to stay. 

He pushed away from the mantelpiece and reached for another log, adding it to the grate with a shower of sparks. Straightening, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and surveyed the low-ceilinged room with its beams and wooden panelling. He scrunched his toes in the warmth of the sheepskin rug, wondering briefly where he had left his shoes. Not that it mattered. The floor was warmed by a heating charm and he could have walked about happily with bare feet if he so wished.

Hands still in his pockets, Harry crossed the small lounge towards the door leading out into the front garden. Beside it, the window was opaque with condensation. He knelt on the cushioned window seat, resting his elbows on the sill and wiped a panel clear with his hand. The water droplets were cold and he quickly dried his hand down the side of his jeans.

Outside, the snow was falling again, much harder than it had during the night. He could no longer see the path that he had so carefully cleared the previous day, and the hedge which surrounded the cottage now blended into the landscape. Snow had drifted up against it on one side and had formed strange, almost sculptural structures on the other. He studied them. The shapes were strangely organic, almost living, like some great white monster creeping ever closer to Hagrid's cottage.

Harry shivered at the image, and, despite the fact that it was only the middle of the day, he quickly pulled the curtains over the window, shutting the monster outside the warm sanctuary of the room. 

He was actually pleased that it was snowing again. He had promised to return to Hogwarts for the New Year festivities, but now that the weather made that impossible, he could remain here in his self-imposed exile. Somehow he couldn't find it within in himself to join in the celebrations. Christmas had been difficult enough, and all he wanted now was his own space where he didn't have to deal with other people's problems. 

Harry gave a little laugh. What a boring old wet blanket he was turning into. Only 17, and he preferred sitting by the fire rather than dancing the night away.

He walked back across the room, past the over-stuffed sofa with its odd assortment of miss-matched cushions, to the little alcove with its table and chairs. It was lit by several lamps, which cast enough light to work by. Maybe he should take a break and get some lunch. Perhaps then, with a clear head, he would be able to finish the much fretted over dissertation.

Crouching down, Harry began picking up the scattered parchments. As he did so, he read through them again, and realised for the first time that there was some semblance of order in what he had written. Slowly, he sank to the floor, sitting cross-legged as he continued sorting through them.

When the cottage door burst open, Harry physically jumped. His first instinct when anything unusual happened these days was to take cover; at least until he knew what was happening. Not exactly a Gryffindor trait, but it was one that had proved useful on more than one occasion recently. He grabbed his wand and scrambled behind the wooden partition separating the table area from the lounge. His heart seemed to be beating so hard and fast; it felt like it was trying to break through his ribs. 

"Calm down," he mouthed the words silently as he tried to catch his breath. "Calm down."

Then quietly, he came to his feet.

********************

What had begun as a pretty snow flurry, sending flakes scattering about him, had rapidly turned into a blizzard complete with hard, sharp ice particles. The weather and visibility had deteriorated so quickly that Draco couldn't have made it back to Hogwarts even if he had tried. He debated whether he could make it to the shelter of the Forbidden Forest, but the weather was coming from that direction and there was no way he could battle against the raging storm.

He did try to use his wand. With his back to the nearly horizontal snowstorm, Draco tried to get a direction, but to no avail. He tried to conjure up some shelter, but it was as if the spells were being reflected off the snow and were not working. Tucking the useless wand away, he had no choice but to keep going forward in the hope of finding shelter. He knew there was a building in the valley; he'd seen the smoke from it earlier, but it scared him to think that he could pass within feet of it without even realising he had missed it. 

It also scared him that he was actually slowing down. A bad sign, because it showed that he was beginning to get hypothermic, and if he didn't find shelter soon, he would be in real trouble. He had prepared for bad weather, the new ski gear was supposed to be the best, supposed to be both wind- and waterproof. But like the wand, his clothing was letting him down. The snow had worked its way through, and he could feel the dampness seeping into the layers underneath, chilling him through to the bone.

He found the building by falling over the invisible hedge. 

Cold and exhausted, he was tempted to remain exactly where he had fallen, the ground suddenly being the most wonderful, comfortable place in the whole world. Fortunately for Draco, his conceited, self-opinionated notions of his own self-worth made him get back to his feet. Somehow he managed to get to the door. 

Struggling with the fastening on his skis, Draco tried to get them off, but his fingers were numb with cold. He cursed, then whimpered and finally let out a sob of gratitude as the clips sprang open.

Then, without the niceties of knocking and waiting for a response, he managed to get his wand to unlock the door and stumbled into the warm interior. In fact, it felt so warm; it almost burned the exposed areas of flesh on his face. He scrambled across to the fire, trying to pull off his waterlogged gloves, but his numb fingers felt next to useless. He did manage to rid himself of the hat and scarf, blond hair hanging in damp rat's tails around his face.

********************

Peering around the partition, Harry could just see the edge of the door. Snow billowed through the opening for a few seconds, then the door slammed shut, cutting off the howl of the storm.

A figure stumbled into view. Red and yellow, with a flash of a green hat and scarf. Harry backed up, flattening his body against the partition and held his breath. His last confrontation with a Death Eater was still too fresh in his mind for comfort. He couldn't deal with that again. Not here. Not now.

His grip tightened on his wand and Harry realised that his palm was moist with sweat. Silently, he turned, faced the partition and pressed both hands on the wood. Then carefully, he leaned to the right and looked into the room. Because he had drawn the curtains over the window, the only light was from the fire. The intruder was standing before the fireplace now and Harry could see the wand in the person's hand. He swallowed nervously and began running through defence charms in his head.

Something clattered on the wooden floor, the sudden noise making Harry jump. Green eyes flashed at the intruder and he saw that the wand was now on the floor at his feet. The intruder seemed to be struggling with his hands and his gloves. Then, he grabbed at his hat and scarf, dropping them to the floor by the fallen wand.

Harry gasped, eyes widening in disbelief as he saw the blond hair and familiar profile.

Draco Malfoy.

Harry dropped his gaze to the floor for a second, as though a change of view might alter what he was seeing. When he looked back, the Slytherin was, unfortunately, still there, but now on his knees on the sheepskin rug.

Malfoy? Here?

Harry realised he was gawking, his gaze raking over the figure. He could see that Malfoy was soaked, the last remnants of snow melting in the heat of the fire and dripping from his cuffs, sleeves, hair and fingers. He was sure that the boy whimpered as he tried to pull off his gloves. And the frustration was clear in his body language, as the hand went to his face, pushing wet hair away, only to be made worse by the soaked glove.

Harry finally lowered his wand, never taking his eyes off the other boy, as his initial reaction of "what the hell is he doing here?" changed. It was clear that his long-time adversary was actually in trouble. Malfoy's normally pale complexion was devoid of colour, and his face looked puffy. He was also shivering so hard, Harry could see the tremors across the room. 

Hesitating for a minute or two, Harry finally stepped out from his hiding place. "Malfoy."

The blond head slowly turned toward the voice, the simple act requiring all his concentration. Draco frowned at the owner of the voice. Eyes registered first shock, then a strange sense of resignation, but the derisive retort Harry had expected never materialised. 

Instead, Draco sat back on his heels and looked down at his gloved hands. "Potter, I could use some help here."

Harry took another step. "What?" The word was a whisper, catching in his throat.

Draco's hands rose a little higher. "I can't get these off."

"Oh. I..." Harry blinked, stunned by the request, even though it was so simple. Malfoy had never... NEVER... asked him for anything. Putting down his wand with exaggerated care, he crossed the room to Malfoy's side and crouched down. Eyes flickered briefly to the other's face before returning to the outstretched hands. Harry reached for the glove, grimacing at its cold wetness. He struggled with the fastening for a moment, having to turn the hand back and forth before releasing the glove's grip. Then, taking Malfoy's wrist in one hand, he pulled, freeing the hand from its wet wrapping.

A frown flickered across Harry's face as his hand brushed against Malfoy's. The flesh was clammy and cold to the touch, fingers as colourless as his face had been. He looked back at the other's face and saw that the features were still deadly pale, the grey eyes in stark contrast to the white skin. "You're frozen."

"What did you expect? Heat stroke?" Draco's voice was tinged with annoyance. He was aware of his teeth chattering and wasn't even sure the words were clear.

The second glove quickly followed, and Draco gripped his hands together. He raised them to his mouth and breathed warm air onto them in an effort to get heat back into the cold flesh. It was an almost pointless exercise, and in the end he gave up and grabbed at the zip of his ski jacket with the deadened fingers. His attempts at pulling down the zip proved pointless and Harry thought Draco mumbled something like "Pathetic."

On his knees, mirroring the Slytherin's posture, Harry watched the struggle and then finally pushed the cold, white hands aside. "Come on, let me." He reached for the zip.

Draco's gaze shot up, meeting and holding the green eyes. He sat very quietly, trembling badly and watched Harry with a strange feeling of fascinated concentration. A part of him was thinking how nice it would be just to lay down now and go to sleep. If he slept, it would all be over. The rest was just aware of the boy kneeling in front of him, inches away, and of the hands yanking at his clothes. 

Harry was aware of the other's eyes fixed firmly on his face as he struggled with the zip. Doing his best to ignore the look, he tugged at the expensive looking red and yellow jacket, finding the act of pulling down a zip much more difficult than he thought it should be. The jacket was all bunched up around Draco's waist and hips, and in the end he shuffled forward a little and pulled Malfoy up to aid the task. Draco came up, knees at right angles, hands held in tight fists at his side.

_What am I doing? _Harry questioned himself as the zip finally came free. _I am on my knees undressing the person who has tried to make my life a misery for the past six and a half years. _He slipped his hands under the opening of the jacket and slid it off Draco's shoulders. It fell to the ground as Draco pulled his arms free, and Harry picked it up by his fingertips as it dripped melted snow over the floor.

"Yuck." Harry tossed it to one side, realising that the exercise had dripped water over his own clothes, and that the knees of his jeans were now wet. He looked down at the rug on which Draco knelt and saw that it was already sodden. Eyes followed the body upwards and finally rested on Draco's face. "There, you can do the rest yourself." He stood up. "I'll get you a towel."

Harry turned, grimacing at his own wet clothes and marched off to the cottage's only bedroom.

Draco watched him leave, a slight frown creasing his forehead. His head throbbed and he felt strangely light-headed as the warmth from the fire bit into him. The heat actually hurt, and his fingers were beginning to burn with pins and needles. He raised a hand to his mouth again, this time sucking on the fingers, desperate to get feeling back into them.

********************

Rummaging in the linen closet, Harry found a clean towel, and, as an afterthought, pulled out a couple of blankets as well. He stood for a moment and dried off his own hands, surprised at how cold they seemed after the brief contact with Malfoy's wet clothing. 

Part of him would have been extremely contented to remain in the bedroom and leave the intruder to his own devices. But leaving Malfoy wasn't really an option. Harry knew the boy needed help, and as much as he loathed him, he didn't really have a choice.

Picking up the bundle of blankets, he walked back into the lounge. 

Draco had moved. He was now sitting on the floor, his long legs stretched out in front of him, but he had done little else. His eyes were closed, and Harry wondered for a moment whether he might be dead. That would take some explaining to Lucius Malfoy -- his precious son expiring in Hagrid's cottage while Harry Potter looked on. Dropping his bundle, Harry crouched down again, looking hard to see if Malfoy was breathing. His chest rose and fell beneath the collarless midnight blue shirt, and Harry could see a pulse beating at his throat.

For several seconds, he stared at the softly beating point, fascinated by the sight of the movement beneath the pale skin. He had never seen Malfoy so still before, had never noticed the curved line running down to the hollow in his throat, or the small scar which disappeared from that point into the neckline of his shirt. Harry wondered briefly how Malfoy had gotten the scar.

The moment passed, as horrified that he should even be watching Malfoy, Harry looked away. He swallowed, shaken by the fact that he should have been so entranced by what he saw and felt more than a little ridiculous. In an effort to shake off the strangeness of the situation, Harry turned his attention to the lacings of Malfoy's boots. 

The fastenings had tightened in the wet, but came free relatively easily. Damp socks followed, and Harry looked down at the perfectly formed feet. His jaw tightened imperceptivity as he thought about his own nasty bony feet with their dry skin and lumps and bumps. Trust Malfoy to have perfect dainty feet to go with the long fingered hands.

Oh, what! Harry mentally slapped himself. He was supposed to be saving this guy from hypothermia, not deliberating on his good and bad physical attributes. He picked up the towel and threw it at Draco.

"Malfoy."

Draco jumped, more from the voice than from being attacked by the towel. He looked down at the offending object, taking a second to realise what it was, then slowly began to wipe his hands and face on it. Then he just sat, face buried in the dry cloth.

It was painful to watch, Harry found. This person who had never been short of a snide comment, who always had a quick-witted response, was barely functioning now. Harry wished he knew what was happening to Malfoy and how to deal with it. His medical knowledge was severely lacking, and the only reason he recognised hypothermia now was because of some Muggle medical TV programme he had seen at the Dursleys. 

Well, if nothing else, he had to get Malfoy out of the wet, cold clothes. He could not believe that he was planning on undressing Draco Malfoy. It was an image so utterly alien to anything he could ever envisage that he wouldn't be surprised to find that it was all a stress-induced illusion. "Can you stand up?"

"Leave me alone," the muffled voice groaned from inside the towel. 

"No." Harry grabbed at Malfoy's wrists, pulling them away from his face. "Come on. Up." Harry pulled on Malfoy's arms, levering Malfoy's dead weight from the floor and dragging him to his feet.

"Okay, I am up." Draco's voice was tinged with annoyance, and the feel of the wet rug beneath his feet seemed to rouse him from his growing stupor. He pulled a face and stepped clear of the water and closer to the fire.

"What the hell were you trying to do, Malfoy?" Draco looked to where the voice had come from and found Harry Potter at his side. "Kill yourself?"

"No. The weather was fine when I set out. I was ... Hey, what are you doing?" Concentration returned like a bolt of red light, and he shoved Harry's fingers away from his waistband.

"I am trying to get you out of these wet clothes." Harry's voice was full of exasperation. Let him rant, Harry decided. At least I can deal with a ranting Malfoy. All mouth and contemptuous looks. But this restrained, quiescent Malfoy made Harry shiver, and he didn't like his own reaction. Didn't understand his reaction. Harry let his hands drop away. "But I've got plenty of better things to be doing with my time."

"Okay." Draco heaved a sigh. His body ached, and he knew that he couldn't get his own clothes off. In fact, he wasn't sure how he managed to actually remain on his feet.

Harry watched Draco close his eyes, the action softening the brief hard look, and he wanted to shout at the Slytherin, make him angry again. "Don't do me any favours, Malfoy. You can stand and drip on the carpet all day for all I care." 

The red and yellow ski pants were like dungarees, with straps going over Draco's shoulder. Harry pulled at the straps more roughly than necessary, using his own anger to hide something he would rather not consider. He was actually getting a kick out of undressing Malfoy. How sick could he get! "Hope you kept the receipt for this stuff, because it is not doing its job properly." Draco staggered slightly under the rough treatment, but remained on his feet, eyes focusing on some point way beyond Harry's shoulder.

Taking a quick breath, Harry grabbed Draco's shirt and tugged it from the ski pants. It was wet all through, as though the Slytherin had been standing in the rain. He looked at the small buttons and debated whether to unfasten the shirt. Instead, he balled his hands on his hips. "Okay," the word was drawn out across a breath. "Can you do the buttons?"

"Of course," Draco drawled, hoping the intonation sounded suitably nonchalant. "I'm cold, not stupid." With rapt concentration, he began fiddling with a button half way down his shirt. He worked as if his very life depended on the button coming loose, stopping occasionally as the pins and needles which tingled in his fingertips became too painful. Harry watched the clumsy fingers as they worked on the simple task, now one of the most complicated things Draco had ever tried to achieve.

Harry fidgeted, wanting to hurry Draco along, but realised it was important not to interrupt. When the button finally popped out, Draco looked at him, a derisive smile on his face. "See, I can do the buttons." He started on the next.

"Yeah, well if you carry on at that speed, it will be summer before you finish." Harry brushed the hands away and reached out for the shirt. It was made of soft silk-like material, which Harry couldn't quite place, and it flowed between his fingers as he took hold of the shirtfront and began releasing the colour-matched buttons from their individual buttonholes. He worked upwards from the one Draco had dealt with, revealing a lighter blue T-shirt underneath. He swallowed, nervous perspiration pricking at the back of his own neck as Draco raised his chin a little to allow access to the button on the neckline. As the button came undone, Harry had the sudden urge to run the flat of his hands over the material, and he pulled away as if burned, shocked by his own thoughts.

Every fibre of his body told him he should not be enjoying the sensation of undressing this ... person with whom he had exchanged emotional, physical and mental blows with over the last six years. He felt nothing ... _nothing_ ... for him apart from animosity and bitterness since they had met on the Hogwarts Express back at the beginning of their first year.

But did he really hate him? a voice somewhere in the dark recesses of his mind questioned. Harry tried to remember the first time they had argued, the first time they had come to blows. No! Don't go there, another voice shouted. Don't question and don't even think that you have been mistaken all these years.

He hates you.

You hate him.

Trying to detach himself from the task, Harry finished the remaining buttons as quickly as possible, denying to himself the fact that his hands were trembling very slightly. The last button finally came free and Harry pushed the shirt back off Draco's shoulders.

He froze in mid action as he met the other's gaze. Framed by the wet rat's tails of his blond hair, Draco's eyes were locked on Harry's face, the look strangely intensive. For the first time, Harry realised that the eyes watching him weren't grey. They weren't steel, ice or any of the descriptive words he had ever thought of for the colour. Calling them 'grey' did not do them justice. Grey was old, dreary, overcast. Grey was a foggy, depressing, bleak day. 

These eyes were not grey. Mixed in with the ice was the palest dusky blue, the colour so intense in its simplicity. It was like looking at his own reflection and seeing himself from a different angle. It was like a frost-covered, crystal clear mountain stream. On the surface, the frost held everything in place, still, placid. But underneath, the water was in a frenzy as it flowed over and around rocks, pooled in dark recesses, caught in eddies. It was ...

Oh, shit! Harry dragged the shirt free and broke the contact, still able to feel the gaze as intense as if he was actually looking at it.

Fortunately for Harry, at that point, Draco had absolutely no idea what was going through Harry's mind or of the effect he was having on the Gryffindor. If he had, he would be rubbing his hands with glee, but instead he missed out on the opportunity of a lifetime for the greatest payback he could give. Instead, he mused on why one moment Harry would be quite gentle and the next as rough as hell.

When Harry turned back, it was in a 'rough as hell' frame of mind. He blamed Malfoy for everything. After all, if he had stayed away from the cottage, Harry would never have been put in this situation. He could have gotten on with his work and have the quiet New Year he'd expected and planned for. But now.... Now HE was here ruining everything yet again.

He looked at Draco's T-shirt, which turned out to have long sleeves. "Had trouble deciding what to wear this morning?" The voice was cutting, sharp and hard, like the emerald colour of his eyes. His mind pleaded _get this over with now ... do it as quickly as possible._

Draco huffed. "It's better to have several layers for warmth," he finally answered, voice muffled as Harry dragged the T-shirt over Draco's head. "What are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere?" 

"And for dryness? Did you leave the Slytherin umbrella behind?" Harry ignored Draco's question and dropped the T-shirt onto the growing pile of discarded clothing. He ran a hand over the final, thankfully dry layer and felt his mouth go dry. "Silk underwear?" He raised an eyebrow. "Now, why doesn't that surprise me?"

Harry picked up a blanket and handed it to Draco, who managed to wrap it around his own shoulders, clutching it tightly to himself. Taking a breath which was supposed to be calming, but which, in effect just made matters worse, Harry reached again for the waistband of the damp ski pants and removed them while the Slytherin's attention was fixed on fiddling with the blanket. Draco gasped and glared at Potter, but said nothing. 

The silk continued all the way down the Slytherin's legs, which were clad in a pair of what Harry could only describe as long johns. He ran a hand across his forehead at the indignity of being on the floor at Malfoy's feet, clutching his trousers and looking at his silk underwear. Hermione and Ron would probably laugh their socks off when he told them. When? He reconsidered the thought. IF he told them. The story of this last 30 minutes would go with him to his grave, and he was seriously considering using a memory charm on Malfoy.

"Very fetching," he commented, as he kept reminding himself that he hated Malfoy.

"It's for warmth, Potter. I take it you've never skied." Draco stood there, looking irritatingly dignified despite his rat-tail hair, tatty grey blanket and silk underwear.

"No," was Harry's only response. He'd never been on holidays, let alone gone skiing. He remembered seeing Dudley's photographs of his Smeltings ski trip. Dudley, in his brand new ski clothes, looked like a very fat banana in a bright yellow jacket and trousers. He wondered whether his cousin actually got onto the skis and whether the ski lift managed to hold his weight. When he flung the second blanket around Draco, it was none too gently. He dragged it up and over the boy's head, like an old lady's shawl. "I wish I had a camera."

"Don't get tetchy with me. Not my fault you were a deprived child." Draco stood, eyes closed, trembling by the fire as Harry cleared away the wet clothes and removed the now soaked rug.

"You can sit down." A voice shouted.

Draco looked around the room and found that Potter was nowhere in sight.

"The sofa isn't rigged to explode or anything."

Draco wanted to sit, but he wasn't sure that if he moved, his legs wouldn't just collapse under him. He did eventually manage the manoeuvre, and curled up in one corner of the sofa, huddled under his blankets.

This was not a good moment in his life he debated. Being stuck at Hogwarts was bad enough. Being here with Potter was the depths of despair. Potter would make the humiliation of this day last to the end of the school year and probably beyond. He could just hear all the Gryffindors laughing as they heard about how poor Malfoy couldn't even undress himself. Before long, the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws would be joining in and he'd have to sit there and take it like he had promised his father. "Walk away from confrontations," his father had said. "Don't let them get to you." On and on, right up to Prize Giving and the Leaving Ball.

Yes, the Prize Giving ceremony and the wretched speech Potter was bound to end up giving. Who else but The Boy Who Lived would get to be Valedictorian? Draco could picture it now. His mother and father would be sitting there watching proudly as their son received his NEWTs and no doubt a few other awards. Then just as everything was going so well, Potter would rise to tumultuous applause and start giving his speech. He would talk about how he had defeated the Dark Lord on so many occasions, and everyone would coo and cheer over their little hero. Then, when Potter decided his speech could do with a little light relief, he would turn on his old adversary. "Let me tell you about the day Draco Malfoy tried to ski and I saved his life."

Draco suddenly decided he was most definitely just a little delirious. And the pins and needles in his fingers and toes? That was almost painful enough to make him cry.

********************

Harry wasn't close to tears, but he was more than a little grumpy. 

In the kitchen, he had rigged a line across the room and was busy hanging up Malfoy's wet clothing. His grumpiness was actually at the intrusion, rather than at having to deal with Malfoy's laundry. The latter task he carried out without really thinking about it. For ten years of his life, he had been an unpaid servant for his aunt, uncle and cousin, doing their household chores almost without question. It became so ingrained into him that he would just get on with the tasks without complaint. 

Hogwarts had helped him change his perspective of the work ethic a little, and the once automatic responses to the Dursleys' commands gradually lessened. He even refused sometimes, but Uncle Vernon was much bigger than Harry and non-compliance still earned punishment. So even at 17, he still did other people's chores without really thinking about it. Sometimes Hermione would tell him off for clearing up after Ron or for tidying up the dorm after his roommates had left it particularly messy. Would she tell him off for hanging out Malfoy's washing?

This summer Harry would be 18 and he had no intention of going back to Privet Drive when he graduated. He wasn't sure just where he would go, but it wouldn't be anywhere with Surrey in the address. He would be happy never to see the Dursleys again.

He picked up the T-shirt and begun spreading it over the line. It smelled like Draco. Of cloves and cinnamon and spices and of Christmas.

The T-shirt slipped from his suddenly numb fingers and landed on the floor in an untidy heap. Dumbfounded, Harry stared down at the offending object, green eyes wide with horror at the betrayal once more of his own mind and thoughts. He tried to work out what shocked him more. Having any idea what Draco might smell like or the fact that he had actually thought the name 'Draco'. There it was again. Draco.

Harry never called him 'Draco', not even in his mind ... especially not in his mind! Draco had ALWAYS been 'Malfoy'. Oh, there had been a few rare occasions when Harry had used 'Draco' as an insult, but he could count those on one hand. He glanced furtively at the door, suddenly worried that Draco ... no MALFOY might just appear on the threshold, asking what he was doing.

Cautiously, he retrieved the T-shirt from the floor and after a moment's hesitation, he gave it a cursory sniff. Of course it would smell like Malfoy, he reminded himself. It BELONGED to Malfoy, so who else would it smell like? But, Harry's betraying thoughts mused, how did he know? When had it filtered into his mind that his adversary reminded him of Christmas?

Of his 17 Christmases, Harry had spent ten with the Dursleys. He hardly had any happy memories from those occasions. Goodwill to all men did not extend to Harry Potter in that household. Gifts had never been important because he never really got any, and those he did get were normally given so that his family could have a good laugh. As for Christmas smells, all he could remember was the smell of Brussels sprouts, which lingered in his cupboard under the stairs for days afterwards. 

But there had been something, he remembered now. Mrs Figg, the lady who occasionally looked after him, somehow always managed to give him a small Christmas gift. The little bag, which she always claimed Father Christmas had left with her by mistake, would contain some chocolate coins, a few nuts (which he had never managed to crack open), a couple of satsumas and a strange thing she told him was a Clove Orange. This dried orange, which had been sprinkled with powdered cinnamon, was tied with a red ribbon and had cloves studded all over it. The smell of orange and spices would last for weeks (or until Aunt Petunia found it, whichever was sooner), and he remembered hiding it away and only bringing it out when everyone else had gone to sleep. The fragrance would mask the kitchen smells in his cupboard and let him dream of the one Christmas he had spent with his parents. 

Of course, he didn't actually believe what he dreamed. After all, how could he remember? He had only been five months old for that one and only Christmas. Yet the dreams had seemed so real with all the sights, sounds and smells intact. The smell of a cigar, which he now knew belonged to Sirius, would instantly transport him back to that moment. He could remember the taste of mulled wine from his mother's kiss and the spicy smell of his father's embrace. These smells would mingle with the pine scent of the Christmas tree, giving him a scent, which, to him, summed up 'Christmas'.

Harry bunched the T-shirt up in his hands and inhaled the scent again. It was that memory of a five-month-old baby. It was a Clove Orange. It was the Great Hall at Hogwarts on Christmas Day.

It was Draco Malfoy.

********************

The tastes and smells of Christmas were the furthest thing from Draco's thoughts, as he lay huddled in his blankets. His hands were clenched tightly in his armpits in an attempt to warm them, and his feet were curled under him as he tried to warm his toes. Somewhere in the depths of his mind, he knew that if he really did have hypothermia and frostbite, he was supposed to remain awake. But he was drifting into a nice sunshine-filled place where it was always warm and summer never ended.

He was just finding a comfortable place on a grassy hillock when a sweet voice called his name. "Malfoy."

"Umm?"

A hand grabbed his shoulder, shaking him roughly. "Malfoy! Wake up!" A second hand gripped the other shoulder. "Malfoy!"

Eyelids fluttered open and dusky blue eyes attempted to focus on the face before him. "I'm awake." Green eyes looked deep into his, then away. Fortunately for Harry, Draco was too drowsy to see the blush colouring Harry's cheeks. "Potter, I am awake." Draco tried to untangle himself from the blankets, in which he had effectively cocooned himself.

"Just don't go to sleep. Madame Pomfrey said you shouldn't go to sleep until I've checked that you're okay."

"Pomfrey's here?" Draco brought himself fully awake at the thought that someone else, even if it was only the school nurse, was here to save him from being alone with Potter.

"No, I've been _fire talking_ to the school. I wanted them to know you were okay."

"That was very noble of you." The voice dripped sarcasm. Even when ill, Draco could still muster the correct tone, and he realised that he was actually feeling rather better, thank you very much.

"I was thinking of them, not you. Someone was bound to notice that you hadn't come back, and, even though it was you, they would have sent out search parties."

"When are they coming to get me?" He finally got free from the blankets and struggled to sit up.

"They aren't."

"WHAT?"

"Calm down." Harry pushed Draco back down. "Hogwarts is snowed in. They can't even get to the village at the moment."

"They are wizards. Surely they are capable of dealing with a little snow?"

"Maybe." Harry glowered at him; cross that Dumbledore had refused to send someone out to get this useless Slytherin out of his hair. "Or just maybe they don't want you there. Have you thought of that?" 

Harry didn't want Draco here any more than Draco wanted to stay. He didn't like the way his mind was reacting to the boy. In fact, he didn't understand why he was reacting like this, and he reminded himself yet again that he hated Draco Malfoy. Hate. Detest. Loathe. He wanted to be as far away from Draco as possible. He felt like pointing a finger at the door like some pantomime villain and saying 'Out into the snow wretch, and never darken my door again'.

"I need medical treatment." Draco sulked. "I could be dying."

"If you give me a moment, I will check to make sure you aren't." Harry retrieved his wand from the table and returned to the sofa where he pointed it at the boy. The look Malfoy gave him was so venomous that Harry wondered how he could ever have found him endearing.

"It's pronounced 'Avada Kedavra', Potter. Get it right, I don't want to be turned into a flobberworm or something equally as obnoxious." He folded his arms across his chest and stared coldly at Harry.

"You are such a knob, Malfoy." Harry muttered an incantation. Almost instantly, Draco felt the blankets begin to warm slightly, just enough to take the edge off his chill, but not enough to actually make him hot. "And don't you dare make fun of the Killing curse." The hard edge to Harry's voice took Draco by surprise. "Or I will take great delight in turning you into a horklump, which, like you, has no discernible use."

Harry spun on his heel and left the room. If he had stayed, he might just have punched the daylights out of Malfoy.

********************

For several minutes Harry stood staring out of the kitchen window. It had stopped snowing and the landscape was now a smooth white world stretching as far as he could see. The sky was still full of dark snow-laden clouds, however, and Harry was sure that more snow was on its way. He realised he had lost track of time and he glanced quickly at his watch. It was nearly 1pm. So much for the quiet New Year he had been hoping for.

He pushed his hair back from his face, and grabbed at the dark curls where they covered his neck, and pulled a little. If he closed his eyes, he could see the green light of the Killing curse, see it flash through his mind and hear the sound of Voldemort's high-pitched chuckle. In one breath, Malfoy had gone from being Harry's remembrance of Christmas to the despoiler of his parents' memories. 

Malfoy wouldn't joke if he knew what the curse could do. Wouldn't joke if he had seen it in action. Harry had lost his parents to it. Been scarred for life by it. Seen someone killed by it. And had killed someone using it.

Using the Killing curse had been the most awful thing he had ever experienced. _Avada Kedavra_ didn't just kill; it comes back on the person using it. Harry had felt the life go out of the person, like he just ... stopped. One moment the Death Eater had been a living, breathing human being, and the next, it was like snuffing out a candle. The action of the curse had been so quick, but the moment of its devastating effects seem to go on and on forever. He was aware of that moment; the split second when life became nothing. That moment was with him all the time, like a freeze-frame on a video. 

Would it always hurt so much to use it Harry wondered? Had Voldemort felt the same frozen instant when he killed Harry's parents? Or did training in the Dark Arts prepare a person not to feel what they did to their victims?

And what about Malfoy? How deep did the boy's dark magic go? Everyone seemed to think that the Slytherin was some sort of trained Dark Wizard, but if that was the case, why bother with an education at Hogwarts? Would he really joke like that if he truly understood what the Forbidden curses could do? Understood what it felt like to use them?

He leaned towards the window; resting his forehead on the cold glass, hot breath condensing and fogging the glass. Sooner or later, he would have to go back into the lounge. He still needed to make sure Malfoy's hypothermia wasn't life threatening, and that he didn't have frostbite. Maybe once he'd done that, he could send Malfoy off to bed as Madam Pomfrey had suggested. But the woman had also said that Harry needed to keep an eye on Malfoy in case his condition deteriorated in any way. He was not going to play nursemaid to that self-righteous arsehole.

Head still on the glass, Harry sighed deeply. Perhaps he should just leave. Even being stranded out in the snow had to be better than being stranded here with Malfoy.

********************

Draco was thinking much the same thing when the Gryffindor came back into the room. He was still debating Harry's constant seesaw emotions and trying to understand why this normally very laidback individual was not holding himself in check. 

Harry was very much like himself and Lucius in some ways. All three of them hid their true feelings. He and his father were experts at the art of keeping their emotions masked, hiding what they really thought. But Harry was different. His face was always expressive, but his true emotions and feelings were hidden behind those glasses, shrouded in the emerald eyes. They masked what he felt from the world. They were also his weapons, which he used to good measure. Not many people could have stared down Lucius the way Harry had in the Great Hall. In fact, most wouldn't even meet his father's eyes. 

Like all children in the Wizarding world, Draco had been brought up with stories of The Boy Who Lived. But he had also been told a very different version to what Weasley and his siblings had heard. In these other stories, Harry Potter was not a hero. These stories were full of excuses and explanations for how a baby could overcome the greatest wizard of them all. Of how this half-blood would eventually pay for what had happened come the great day of Lord Voldemort's return when all Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers would meet their end. 

He had never had any reason to doubt his father's version of events until he was asked to do the unthinkable. He was 11 years old, about to be sent away from home for the first time. He was going to Hogwarts, and his father wanted him to make friends with Harry Potter. Lucius Malfoy wanted his son to make sure Potter didn't fall in with the wrong sort -- the Weasleys for example and the other Muggle-lovers and Mudbloods that Dumbledore let into Hogwarts.

Draco remembered the moment all too well. He had a near-perfect photographic memory for such things. It was a shame it didn't work as well for more important things -- such as his lessons for example. 

_"But why, father? I don't want a half-blood for a friend."_

_"Because it is important that we prevent him being used against us."_

_"But he's a half-blood!"_

_"And that is why it is permissible to use him as we see fit. He is no better than a house-elf, Draco, but he does have a gift of power, which we will use. Our enemies think he is their saviour, but if we bring him to our cause, he will become the instrument of their downfall."_

At the time, he didn't really understand what his father meant, but he wanted to please Lucius. How hard could it be to get someone to like him? He was, after all, rich, intelligent, good-looking, great company, in fact everything a friend would want. 

When it all went wrong, Draco had been mortified. How dare this half-blood turn him down? Surprisingly, his father had not been very disappointed at his son's failure. Instead of being grateful for this, it actually made Draco more annoyed. Having his father displeased with him felt worse that an out-and-out punishment. He had brooded over the incident, which grew out of all proportion to the original event. It was made worse because most people liked Harry Potter -- students and teachers alike. 

He'd tried to get his own back, but everything always backfired. The first flying lesson when he had wanted to show how good he was had ended with everyone cheering Potter. Then the Gryffindor had been picked as Seeker for his Quidditch house team he even got to have his own broom, something unheard of for first years. Even when he had tried to catch Potter breaking the school rules, he ended up being punished as well. He should have known that McGonagall would give him a detention when he told her about Hagrid's dragon. It wasn't so much the detention, but the look of delight on Potter's face that unset him. The git had just lost his house 150 points, but he still managed to smile at Draco's misfortunate. 

Then had came the final humiliating end to the year -- Gryffindor being awarded the House Cup by default. Draco had listened in disbelief as Dumbledore had fixed everything so that the Slytherin victory was turned to defeat. It just was not fair, and he was reminded of his father's comments on how people like Dumbledore would go out of their way to undermine purebloods. It was these incidents that that lead to the animosity he felt for Harry. He had been made to suffer, so Harry Potter would as well. 

Everything had changed during the summer break after the Triwizard Tournament. 

Lord Voldemort had returned, and the resurrection of the new, all-powerful Dark Lord completely changed Harry's status in Lucius' eyes. His father no longer saw Harry as just something to be used and thrown away when it was worn out. His father now had his Master back, and Harry Potter went from being no more important than a house-elf to the deadly nemesis overnight. 

To make matters worse, Lord Voldemort wanted Harry Potter dead, and for his father, the wishes of his master became his new priority. Harry was suddenly a target for any Death Eater or Voldemort supporter. And Draco, at just 15, was expected to hand Potter over to Voldemort if the opportunity arose.

Draco had been shocked by his father's instructions, and for the first time in his life, he had considered not obeying him. He knew what his father expected of him, what had always been expected. But this was something else. It was one thing to wage his own personal vendetta against Harry, but could he really allow himself to be responsible for his death? His love-to-hate relationship with Harry had matured over the four years into something that he found difficult to define. The hate had slipped into something else -- he wouldn't like to admit a fondness for the Gryffindor, but there was a need to be around him. How else could he explain his fascination with him? The next two and a half years were spent trying to please his father while not letting him know of the complicated relationship he shared with the one person his father hated.

Draco knew his adversary's strengths and weaknesses; felt he had an idea what made Harry tick. He had spent almost every day over the past six and a half years studying Harry the way he studied his other lessons, and he wondered now whether Harry's friends actually understood him, or whether it took an opponent to do that?

He knew the _Avada Kedavra_ quip was uncalled for, but he had promised himself to get back at Harry for making his father leave. Hurting him emotionally was one way to wound without a physical fight (and thus avoid the obligatory detention). The only problem here was he couldn't bring himself to tell Harry why he had said it, and what was the point of payback when the target didn't know? And that made him irritable.

As for his father. If Lucius knew that Harry was alone in this cottage, seemingly unprotected, and that Draco hadn't told him... 

"I want to talk to Dumbledore." Harry had hardly set a foot into the room when Draco made his demand.

"Fine by me, but he will only say the same things he said to me." Harry stopped in front of the sofa, arms folded across his chest. "I need to check your hands and feet."

Pulling the blanket tighter about him, Draco hid his hands in the folds. "They are fine. I've looked." He had stopped shivering now, mainly thanks to the warming spell Harry had put on the blankets. 

"Madam Pomfrey said..."

"Well, she's not here, is she?"

"Then don't blame me when your fingers all go black and fall off." 

Draco harrumphed and finally held out his hands. 

Harry dropped down onto one knee and took hold of a hand, carefully studying each digit. He knew that Malfoy's skin was normally very pale, but his fingers were more bloodless than just pale. He rubbed a finger over the flesh and saw it colour up a little. Blood was still flowing to the fingertips, which was good sign, plus there were none of the signs the nurse had asked him to look for. "Have you got pins and needles?" Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Malfoy's smirk.

"I did earlier, but it's gone now." The smirk disappeared and in its place Draco put a strange wistful smile, which he knew would unsettle Harry. "Are you going to propose?"

"What?" Harry turned the hand over, looking at the back.

"Well, there you are, down on one knee. Holding my hand." Draco was pleased by the look of horror that flickered across Harry's face before the Gryffindor had the chance to hide it. "I thought you might have changed your mind and decided that you liked me after all."

Harry stared angrily, but said nothing; he was too embarrassed to actually say anything at that point, especially as touching Draco actually gave him a buzz. And especially as he thought Draco had winked. Malfoy, he reminded himself. His name is Malfoy. Quickly, Harry continued with his task, refusing to meet Malfoy's eye.

Draco watched Harry intently, noting the colour that had risen across his cheekbones. Oh, how he loved it when he could get at a Gryffindor like this. It was even sweeter when it was Harry; it almost made life worth living. Just a shame that like the _Avada Kedavra_ comment, there was no one else to see his little triumphs. 

Of course, he had no problems in thinking of Harry as just 'Harry'. The change had occurred halfway through their fifth year. Harry had returned from the summer holidays a changed person. The 'open' Potter was gone, and the person who replaced him was insular, closed, locked in his own thoughts. They said it was because of Cedric Diggory's death, but Draco knew it was more. 

His father had told him what had really happened at the graveyard. He had learned about the Dark Lord's return and the new death sentence Voldemort had placed on Potter's head. Once the initial shock at this news had gone, Draco had realised he needed that to relearn exactly what 'loving to hate' Harry really meant. 

Now, two years later, he still hadn't really decided how he felt about Harry. Was it possible to like and hate someone at the same time? Draco didn't know the answer to that, but somehow calling him 'Potter' didn't seem right any more. Of course, he still called him 'Potter' to his face, but that was more like a formality to him now. One day, he would call him 'Harry' out in public, in the halls of Hogwarts and in front of all his Slytherin classmates. But not just yet. Not now.

Draco let Harry take his other hand. He let Harry take its weight and watched as the Gryffindor's fingers ran lightly over his skin. The touch left him pleasantly surprised. For some reason, he had always assumed that Harry would have hard and callused hands, just like he imagined all Gryffindors would have. After all, weren't they always getting their hands dirty, doing all those good deeds, being bold and fearless? Yet Harry's hands were smooth, even soft, and Draco had to admit, he had a very nice touch. He was quite disappointed when Harry finally let go.

"I'm supposed to check your feet."

"Okay." Draco stuck them out from beneath the blankets, deliberately wiggling the toes. "You know something, Potter, you would be the perfect assistant to Pomfrey, with your exquisite bedside manner."

Harry looked positively mortified at Malfoy's sudden change of demeanour. One minute he was being his normal painful self, and the next he was a pain in a different way. Malfoy might be doing as Harry asked, but he seemed to be enjoying himself. Harry looked at the perfect feet and the offending digits, and desperately wanted to touch them. To see if the skin felt as smooth as it looked, to find out if he was ticklish.

Harry froze on the spot and thought for a moment that he might throw up. This was not good, and was not a train of thought he wanted to continue. Hell, it wasn't even a train of thought he understood! 

He gripped his hands in his lap, refusing to go anyway near the feet. "They look fine," he finally said. Pulling himself together, Harry got to his feet. "You'll live." He turned away.

"Potter."

"What?"

"Do you have some clothes I can wear?"

"No."

"You surely aren't going to make me sit here in these moth-eaten blankets?"

"Why not?"

"Because when it comes down to it, you are one of the good guys and you wouldn't leave me shivering in the cold."

"Wanna bet?" The trouble was, Harry knew Malfoy was right. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't leave Malfoy half-naked until his own clothes dried. Even the warming spell Pomfrey had given him wouldn't dry them instantly. He disappeared into the bedroom and returned with a pile of clothes and a smirk on his face. "Here." The clothes were relatively new, but all were Dudley's cast-offs. "Now, listen, Malfoy. I've got work to do, so just stay out of my way."

Draco picked up the shirt, his nose wrinkled in distaste. "You expect me to wear this?"

"It's either that or blankets, take your pick." With that, Harry strode from the room.

********************

Neither spoke much over the coming hours. Harry set about his work again, trying hard to ignore the fact that Draco was sprawled on the sofa reading a book. It didn't help that he was struggling with Potions work, while the best Potions student at Hogwarts was sitting a few feet away. A couple of times he had been on the verge of asking the Slytherin for help, but he had quickly brushed aside the idea. He would never live it down.

Draco, on the other hand, was beginning to feel the after-effects of his day on the slopes. He ached in places he didn't remember having and felt drained. He was also extremely bored. Suddenly the idea of attending the Hogwarts New Year Ball seemed the most exciting thing that could happen to him. Harry had fed him earlier, but they had barely exchanged a word since then. And the only sounds in the room were the scratch of Harry's pen and the tick of the large clock on the mantelpiece.

Five o'clock, the big black hands said. Draco put the book down and carefully got to his feet, stretching out the stiffness in his limbs. He wandered over to a window next to the front door, pulled back the curtain and scrubbed away some of the frost which had condensed on the inside of the glass. It had snowed again during the afternoon, but now the dark sky was cloudless and the moon was cresting a hill, casting a silvered sheen to the snow's surface. He suddenly remembered that somewhere beneath that whiteness outside the door lay his skis, and he debated for a moment whether to try and find them. His sensible side won through, and he decided to leave any search for the morning. 

He turned back and surveyed the room from the window seat. It was in darkness except for two spots of light, one by the sofa where he had conjured a light to read by, the other on the far side where Harry was sitting bent over his work, long black hair hiding his features from view. Much longer, Draco debated, and he would have to tie it in a ponytail. As well as the sofa, there were several comfortable chairs placed around the fireplace, and, in deference to the season, there was a large Christmas tree on the lounge side of the partition, which divided the room.

Draco smiled. Compared to his home, the place was a hovel, but there was something charming about it in a rustic sort of way. It oozed 'cosy and nice'. No dressing for dinner here, thank you very much. Even the other rooms gave the same impression. The bedroom had a big 'cosy' bed with pretty chintz covers and matching curtains. The kitchen was the epitome of a 'cosy' country kitchen complete with a big pine table and chairs and a cooking range. As for the bathroom, he had spent a happy hour lazing in the big tub, which seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of hot water.

He knew Harry often disappeared from Hogwarts at weekends and he had wondered where the Gryffindor spent his time. Obviously it was here wherever 'here' was.

Feet clad in Harry's socks, Draco strolled back to the fire and stared at the flames. 

Across the room Harry glanced up surreptitiously at the figure outlined by the firelight. The jeans Draco wore only stayed up because of the belt, and the red and white checked shirt reminded Harry of a Muggle song about a lumberjack. Why was it, Harry debated, that clothes which made him look like a street urchin, somehow looked like designer gear on Draco Malfoy? He gave a silent groan and returned to his books.

Draco, meanwhile, had stacked a couple of extra logs on the fire. "Who does this place belong to?"

"What?" Harry mumbled from his table off to Draco's left.

"This place. I take it you haven't gone into the property business."

"No. 

"Who does it belong to?" Draco asked again.

"Hagrid."

"Hagrid? He owns a place like this? Where did he get the money from?" Harry did not reply, but his body language said it had nothing to do with Draco. "He lets you use it?"

"Yes."

"And what are you doing here?"

"Studying."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Are you capable of replying in sentences longer than one word?"

"No." Harry glanced towards the fire. "Not at the moment anyway." 

"Would you like me to light the tree?" Draco gestured towards the decorated Christmas tree.

"No."

"Why?"

"Because, Malfoy, I don't feel particularly Christmassy."

"Then, what better than a tree to cheer you up?" Draco picked up his wand and lit the multi-coloured lights. They illuminated the room, chasing shadows into the corners. "There, isn't that better?" 

"If I'd wanted Christmas, I'd have stayed at Hogwarts."

Draco raised an eyebrow, the tone of Harry's comment unexpected. It was normally him that got to ridicule high days and holidays. To hear it from a Gryffindor was a surprise. Harry didn't look up as he stopped beside the table. "Studying upsetting the normal celebratory zeal?" He picked up one of the parchments. Harry snatched at it, but Draco kept it out of his reach. "Oh, Potions. Not finished your dissertation yet then?"

"No."

"It's due in a week." He scanned the parchment. "I've already handed mine in."

"Don't know why you bothered. Snape would pass you if you'd handed in blank sheets."

Draco dropped the parchment and picked up another. "It might come as an unpleasant shock to you, Potter, but Snape takes as much delight in failing Slytherins as he does to anyone else.'

"Ha!" Harry sat back and looked up at Draco. "Who are you kidding? I've totted up how many marks he's taken from Gryffindor and Slytherin, and there is no comparison."

"Maybe that's because we are better than you. As for these dissertations, they have to be marked by an independent adjudicator, so blank sheets wouldn't work. And as I can't find out who the adjudicator is, I can't offer to sleep with them and thus pass with perfect marks." He gave Harry one of his bewitching smiles. "So you got a sleeping potions question."

"Unfortunately. What did you get?"

"Poisons and their uses."

Harry's eyebrow rose, green eyes sparkling in the glow of the Christmas tree lights. "Now, why doesn't that surprise me?"

Draco carried on working his way through the parchments. "So what's the problem?"

"Sorry?"

"You've started this so many times I expect they've run out of parchment in Diagon Alley."

"And why would I want to discuss this with you?" Harry's thoughts betrayed him. He might have said one thing, but what he really wanted to say was 'please, please help me'.

"Fine, Potter. Just trying to help. But you're missing the point here." He waved one of the parchments at Harry and pulled up a chair. "You're wasting your time talking about herbs that aren't important." 

"I am not." Harry pulled the parchment from Draco's fingers and scanned over the words. "This is all relevant. Chamomile, lavender, passionflower, hops. They are all ingredients used in sleeping draughts."

"Medicinal draughts. The question is about abuse of power using sleeping draughts. Read it again."

"It does not say that."

"Didn't you listen to Snape when he was going over all the questions? He specifically talked about the Draught of Living Death with this one. That is not about something used in Madam Pomfrey's hospital ward."

Harry grabbed at his hair, as he scanned through the question paper again. The hand then gestured at the paper, and he repeated, "It does not say that. How am I expected to answer this when Snape doesn't even explain what he wants?"

Draco sat back in his chair and picked up one of Harry's quills. "And that is the whole point. You know Potions is all about interpreting riddles. The subject is full of them, and one of the skills needed to successfully make Potions is to know how to interpret those riddles. Snape is giving you a riddle here in this question." He dropped the quill and started sorting through the books on the desk. Selecting one of the largest, he flicked through the pages, and, finding what he wanted, pushed it over to Harry. "Here, look at the recipe for Draught of the Living Death. Look at the subtitle of it."

Harry looked from the Slytherin down to the words: _Draught of the Living Death: A sleep-inducing potion for destroying the will of the imbiber._ "Are you saying that the question 'Sleeping Draughts - Their Uses and Abuses' is just about this one potion?"

"Look at it from Snape's point of view. What was the first thing he ever asked you?" 

Harry's brow creased in thought and his shoulders rose in an exaggerated shrug. "I don't know."

"For goodness sake, don't you remember? That first day in Potions? He came bounding into the classroom and looked at you and said 'Ah yes, Harry Potter, our new celebrity'. Remember?" Draco's impression was near perfect. Harry had a vague recollection of the event and wondered why the Slytherin should remember such a thing. "The first question he ever asked you was: 'What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?'. The answer, of course, is Draught of the Living Death. Asphodel is a herb sacred to Persephone, who spent half the year in the underworld. It is associated with the fields of the dead and was planted near tombs. That's the death connection. It's also part of the lily family Lilaceae, which is a direct connection to you and your family." Draco spread his hands as if everything should now be crystal clear. "Snape personalised all these questions for each of us."

"Yeah, right." Harry tried to sound convincingly negative about the whole thing, but he was still stuck with the thought of how, or why, did Draco remember what had happened to his adversary in one lesson over six years ago?

"Have it your way. Just think for a minute what he gave to the penniless Weasel. Transmuting base metals. And Granger -- she gets a question which involves the only practical work in the whole class. We all know what an expert she is at book study, but not so hot on the practical side."

"And your poisons?" 

Draco's small smile was all knowing. "Perhaps he thinks I have some Machiavellian tendencies I might just be putting to good use when I graduate."

Harry watched Draco for a moment, absently chewing the end of his quill. Draco didn't look like the Slytherin he was used to dealing with. There was no smugness in his tone, and the typical look of self-importance he would normally have worn when winning a point from Harry was nowhere in evidence. He almost looked ... well ... normal. Harry felt like he could be sitting here with Hermione or Ron. Was the Slytherin spinning him a yarn? In a strange twisted way, what Draco said made sense, but if he based his paper on that and it turned out to be wrong, Harry would lose every single mark. Maybe he could write about the draught then add something on sleeping draughts in general.

Maybe he should just give Draco a chance.

"Okay," Harry finally said. "Let's discuss Death."

It was a good thing none of the friends of either boy were able to see them. The blond head and the dark head bowed over the same books would probably have caused them to faint on the spot.

********************

Several hours later, Harry was sitting on a cushion on the floor, leaning back against the sofa. The now dry rug was back on the floor, and his legs were stretched out across it, crossed at the ankles. This was his favourite place, somewhere to chill out after a hard day's work, and the fact that the floor was magically heated, made it even more comfortable.

He took a sip from the bottle of Butterbeer and closed his eyes as he swallowed. He would have to write out the dissertation properly, but at least it was finally finished, and even though Draco had been there, it was all Harry's own work. Harry had seen a completely different side of the Slytherin, who had managed to quietly point him in the right direction without actually telling him the answers. Contrary to everything that Harry might have thought, Draco Malfoy had the makings of a great teacher. Or an incredible actor, he reminded himself. Don't ever forget that Draco could act the socks off most people!

Harry was aware of a weight on the sofa behind him, and he realised his quiet chill-out was over. Draco had finished whatever had been keeping him occupied and was now coming to inflict himself on Harry again. He chose not to move or open his eyes.

"Here, try this." 

An arm snaked over Harry's shoulder, resting its weight there and he finally opened his eyes. The hand held a small glass, half-filled with a smoky-looking liquid. "What is it?"

"Don't know, but it is definitely alcohol and definitely interesting. I imagine your friend Hagrid has been producing homebrew."

Harry took the glass and sniffed at the liquid, expecting it to be overpowering, but it was almost odourless. "Have you tried it?"

The arm finally pulled away. "Oh yes. It'll knock your socks off. I've a whole new admiration for Hagrid. He could make a fortune with this stuff."

"I think maybe I should stick to Butterbeer."

"Come on, Harry, live a little. Or is The Boy Who Lived scared of getting drunk?"

Draco couldn't see the little smile on Harry's face at being called his given name. But the smile disappeared almost instantly as the voice changed to a mocking tone as he used 'The Boy Who Lived' line. When Hagrid had first called him that back on his 11th birthday, Harry had liked the term. He had found it endearing and looked on it with fondness. It had been a connection with his parents, a gesture that said they hadn't died in vain. But over the years it had almost become a term of abuse, particularly from people like Malfoy. The Boy Who Lost, The Boy Who Got It Wrong, The Boy Who Killed Cedric, The Boy Who... It went on and on. Whenever someone wanted to take a dig at him.

"Don't call me that."

"What?"

He could hear Draco just behind him, lying so that his head was at the same end of the sofa as Harry sat. "The Boy Who Lived crap." Harry suddenly felt very tired. He had been through so much in the last year and now it felt like every incident was crashing in on him, crushing his resolve and dragging him into an emotional blackness. Ron being injured. Killing the Death Eater before the man could kill Ron. His knowledge of Voldemort's advancing forces. The fact he was not able to share this knowledge with this best friends and the growing loneliness this caused, cutting him off from everyone. The expectations of people that he could do something about the Dark Lord. And to top it all, the stupid potions dissertation which he had been struggling with for weeks.

"Oh? I always thought you liked it. Your little sign of affection from the masses."

"First, I'm not a boy anymore." No, Harry thought, I stopped being a boy when I killed someone just before my 17th birthday. He wondered again how much Draco knew about the Dark Lord's activities. Did he know just how strong Voldemort's armies now were? How his forces were slowly gaining ground in the fight to control the Wizarding community. If Lucius were a Death Eater, then surely Draco would know how the Dark Lord had set up his new legions in the West Country, basing them in the Arthurian town of Tintagel. Draco must have seen Voldemort's proclamations. That he was Arthur, the once and future King came back again to reclaim his throne.

Had Lucius told his son that the killings had started again? Did Draco know how Harry had left his childhood behind when he finally used the _Avada Kedavra _curse in anger and for real? Sixteen years old was too young an age to have to kill people, and he hated himself for doing it. Hated himself for having to choose between the life of a friend and that of a Death Eater. What gave him the right to decide who should live and who should die?

Harry wondered what it would have been like if he had known the Death Eater. Would he be able to kill someone he knew, even if a loved one was in danger? What if it had been Draco who stood there? Everyone seemed to assume that Draco would join Voldemort and become one of his followers. Could he kill the person lying behind him now? Just stand there and point his wand at Draco and take his life?

He shuddered at the thought, and, needing something to take away the bitter taste of death, he emptied the glass in one go. The liquid trailed comforting warmth from his mouth down into his stomach. Automatically he took a deep breath and was treated to an instant chill catching in the back of his throat. He stared at the empty glass, other more serious thoughts temporarily forgotten. "Wow, this is just so... incredible." He took another breath, amazed at the fire and ice sensations vying for control between his mouth and stomach. 

"So you're not a boy?" The arm came across Harry's shoulder, this time holding a bottle. Harry took it.

"No. How would you feel being called that when your parents had been killed in an attack you had lived through?" Harry filled his glass again and gulped down the liquid. This time he held his breath, keeping the warmth for as long as possible. When he finally gasped for breath, the shock of the ice was almost mind numbing.

Harry felt the weight of Draco's arm across his shoulder again, and he glanced up at the empty glass held in his fingers. He filled it up from the bottle.

Draco shrugged, even though Harry couldn't see the gesture. "Don't know. I've never thought about it."

"I didn't want to be famous. Given the choice, I would much rather have my parents alive then some stupid little name." Harry carefully put the bottle down, watching its cloudiness swirling around the bottle. It almost looked like there was some living thing inside the glass. 

"Ah, but if it is the choice between the fame or nothing, what would you rather have?"

"Pardon?"

"Okay. Your parents are dead, you come to school and nobody cares. How would you feel then?" Harry didn't respond, but he became very still. "You are The Boy Who Lived and you can't change that. It's what makes you what and who you are."

"Since when have you been an expert on what and who I am?"

"Know thine enemy. Isn't that how the saying goes?"

"And are you?" Harry spun round, holding his knees, and looked at Draco. "Are we enemies?"

Draco was startled by the change in posture; it was one thing talking to the back of Harry's head, but to suddenly be caught in that jade gaze. "I don't know, Harry. What do you think? Wouldn't squabbling school children be a better term?"

"Are you going to join him?"

"Who?" The Malfoy poker face was firmly in place. This was not a conversation he wanted to have.

"Voldemort." Draco didn't answer. "I know we have different views, but even you can't want to be part of what he preaches. Want to be branded with his Mark." There was still no response. "There are other ways."

"What can you offer me that other people can't?"

Harry gave a small laugh. "I'm not offering you anything, Draco. This isn't a game where you can play the two sides off against each other."

"Oh? I thought that was what it was all about. Your side against the rest? Imagine if it had been different, Harry. Imagine if you'd taken my hand on the Hogwarts Express. Imagine if you'd been sorted into Slytherin."

"I still wouldn't have joined him." Harry gave the smallest of shrugs. "He killed my parents. Nothing will ever change that."

"There are things here you can never understand. Duty, obligation, obedience."

"To what? Him? Your father? What about yourself, Draco? What do you want?" Harry tapped his finger on Draco's chest. "Isn't that what's important here? How do you feel? What do you truly believe?" 

"This is priceless. You preaching to me about what I want." Draco tore his eyes away from Harry and looked up at the ceiling. He had never considered a different path. Never considered that his father's choices were not the only way forward for him. Of course, a few sweet words from Harry weren't likely to change that, but they did plant just the tiniest seed of doubt in the dark backwaters of his mind. 

"I remember I was about three when I first heard about you." Draco turned on his side, looking at Harry again. "My father's mother was always a disappointment to him. She had never agreed with his views. I loved her and she would tell me a fairy story about the evil dark lord who was trying to take over the world, and how this little boy who ended up with a magic scar saved everyone." Draco frowned, eyes closing slightly as they shifted to the lightning scar just above Harry's right eye. It was a thin white line in the firelight. He reached out, tracing the mark with his index finger.

The touch made Harry catch his breath. No one had ever touched the mark before, and he felt the caress right down into the pit of his stomach. He blinked once ... twice. "And?" The word was barely audible.

The hand dropped away. "She used to tell me that if I was a good boy I could end up like him. Harry, The Boy Who Lived." Draco left out a small sigh. "I miss her. She died a few years later and the stories changed. Maybe I'll tell you what the new ones were like one day. By the time I was at school, there you were in all those books: _Modern Magical History, Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_. You were talked about in hushed tones, this saviour who would bring the Wizarding world to greatness again. While all I had was a family who had once served the Dark Lord and claimed to have been under his spell. I had a vague recollection of my grandmother telling me her son was no more in thrall to You Know Who than anyone else was. That he knew exactly what he was doing."

"Call him Voldemort. Names can't hurt you."

"Can't they? Names are power, Harry. They are one of the prime ingredients of Dark Magic. You need Names to work spells at that level, and his Name is one of the most powerful when invoked."

"Did you father teach you?"

"Dark arts?" Draco saw Harry nod, and he smiled at the Gryffindor. "I'm hardly likely to admit that to you, am I? You being the biggest anti-dark arts person in the Wizarding world."

"Is that why you hate me?"

"Hate you?" There was a long silence as Draco clearly thought carefully about his answer. "I don't think I had ever really hated you. Envy perhaps. Bitter. Angry. Extreme dislike. And I guess that once we started on that slippery slope, it was difficult to get off it. Especially after you teamed up with Weasley. My father had always thought that once you got to Hogwarts, you could be 'taught' to think the 'right things', be part of the right circle of people. He was really upset when he found out the Weasleys had gotten their hands on you."

"You make it sound like there was some sort of ulterior motive to the Weasleys being my friends."

"Everybody has motives, Harry, remember that. You, me, Dumbledore, my father. Even the Weasleys." 

"Did you know Ron before Hogwarts?"

"No, not personally. But I knew the family. My father didn't approve of them. They are an old Wizarding family who don't seem to understand the principles of keeping the bloodlines pure. Father would preach about purity and its importance, and there was Arthur Weasley completely entranced by all things Muggle. And of course, he had countless children, while the great Malfoys were stuck with just me to continue on the family line." Draco paused and let out a sigh. "What did you think about me when we first met in the robe shop?" 

Harry released his knees and sat cross-legged on his cushion, the movement giving him time to think. The bottle came into view and he picked it up, filling his glass again. He raised the bottle towards Draco who held out his own glass. "Do you really want to know?"

"You've insulted me enough already, once more wouldn't hurt." Draco shrugged and emptied his glass, the hot and cold sensation infusing throughout his body. "And you've seen me in my underwear." He thought Harry blushed, but it could have been the lights from the tree tinting his flesh.

Harry emptied his own glass. "Have I ever told you about Dudley?" 

"Muggle cousin?" Harry nodded. "Very fat, spoilt, demanding always gets what he wants." 

"Well, you reminded me of him. Except for the fat bit, of course. And you knew so much I'd never even heard of."

"I did say 'hello' to you."

"I know." Harry's voice was quiet. 

"I was scared about going off to school. I'd never been away from home before. I knew Crabbe and Goyle, and some other people who were starting, but they weren't really friends. Can I have the bottle?" 

Harry passed it back and returned to leaning against the sofa, his back to Draco again. "I think it was something you said about Hagrid that put me off. He rescued me and you called him a savage."

"I was a child repeating what I'd been told."

"You still think he is."

"He scares the shit out of me and always has."

"Hagrid scares you? He's one of the friendliest people I know." 

Draco gave a laugh. "If he's on your side. To me he's always been a giant with giant tendencies."

Harry reached for his bottle of Butterbeer and realised it swam slightly before him. He'd never been drunk before, and wondered just how much of Hagrid's fire/ice drink it took to make someone intoxicated. Actually, he reminded himself, this was the first time he'd ever had alcohol. Perhaps he should stick to Butterbeer from now on. "You know, you've been such a git over the last six years. The things you've said and done to people. Hermione, Hagrid, Ron, Neville. Would you have done that if I hadn't been around?"

Draco leaned forward, pushing against Harry's shoulder as he filled the other's glass. "Children are notoriously cruel creatures. I think your friends are hardly blameless. They've all said some pretty nasty things to me. Granger even hit me, remember?"

"How could I forget? Along with the ferret incident, it was a highlight of my years at Hogwarts." Harry imagined the dirty look Draco might be throwing at him. "How did you work out all those things about my Potions assignment? You remembered things about me I'd long forgotten."

Emptying his glass, Draco breathed in the cool aftertaste, relishing in its sensation. He knew everything about Harry. Everything his adversary had been through in the past six and a half years. It was imprinted on him as though it had been his own life, first in hatred and then as something else, something he couldn't put his finger on and didn't truly understand. "I have a good memory." He breathed in deeply again, the cold air tinted with another taste which he realised was Harry. A taste of summer and light. Draco looked at the dark head before him, and watched where the long curls of black clustered around Harry's neck. He'd often wondered about Harry's hair. It always looked harsh to him, like it might be dry and brittle to the touch. "You saved my life earlier."

"You wouldn't have died."

"You didn't know just how bad I was feeling. If I hadn't gotten out of those wet clothes." He reached out a hand and touched a curl at Harry's neck; straightening it and then letting it spring back, almost marvelling at the texture under his fingertips. "You could have just left me." He touched the hair again, leaving his fingers entangled in it.

"No, I couldn't. If I'd done nothing and something had happened, I would never have forgiven myself."

Harry didn't pull away, nor did he lean into the touch. He just allowed the sensation of it to filter through his senses. It was like the touch on his scar. He'd always been a tactile person, but he had spent all his life separate from people, from closeness, from touch. The only touch he had ever received from the Dursleys had been either that of indifference or of pain. Even the pain became welcome in its own twisted way. He remembered going for months without any contact, not even a hand raised in anger. He would sometimes push things just so Uncle Vernon might grip his shoulders and shake him, just for the contact, to remind him of the feel of another human being.

Then he got to Hogwarts and things were different. He had people around him, people who cared. For the first time he felt wanted, needed and loved. Hugs from Hermione and Ron. Hands on shoulders. But his so-called fame stopped most relationships from forming. He had tried to make friends, to fall in love, but there always seemed to be those who wanted to make something for themselves out of a relationship with him. He was forever caught up in the media circus that seemed to surround him constantly. 

So even though he was thought of as Hogwarts' most eligible bachelor, no one wanted to go out with him. Even dancing with him at a Ball seemed to make the Daily Prophet headlines. The girls who delighted in making the headlines were not Harry's type, while those he would like to share time with shied away from the publicity, leaving him like a wallflower, surrounded by friends but with no one special. He remembered wanting to date Cho, but after the events of the Triwizard Tournament, he knew that he could never ask her out. Not after Cedric had died.

Of course, there was always Hermione, but she had never been his girlfriend. Their friendship had always remained platonic, which pleased Harry. He loved her without question, and their relationship meant so much to him. Knowing that she would always be there long after each of them had found a partner. Hermione was currently dating Seamus, and Harry had no problem with that. He just wished that he could find someone to make him as happy as they were.

He let out a long sigh which caught in his throat, and he realised his eyes were watering. "I think I've had too much to drink." The words were throaty with tears.

Draco's long fingers teased at the curls. "We've missed New Year." 

"Really?" Harry looked up at the large clock and saw that it was already ten minutes into 1998. He pulled off his glasses and carefully wiped his fingertips across his eyes in a gesture he hoped Draco wouldn't see. "Do you think we could spend our last six months here not fighting?"

"Is that what your New Year's wish is?"

Harry swallowed and closed his eyes, the strain of six years of fighting darkness almost too much. And now Draco had touched him, and it felt like every barrier he had ever erected around his emotions had disappeared. It had to be the drink, he decided. "I just want to get through this and come out the other side."

"The other side?"

"School. Voldemort." His voice was almost nonexistent. "We don't have to be friends." Tears seeped from under the closed eyelid; sparkling along lashes before running down his face. He leaned back into Draco's hand. "You can just ignore me."

The hand pushed through the curls and moved around Harry's shoulder, resting protectively across his chest. "Harry, I could never ignore you." He leaned forward and touched his forehead to the back of Harry's head.

"Don't do this to me." Shoulders softly shaking, Harry tried to bite back the tears.

"Do what?"

"Make me feel." 

"It would take more than me to do that. But I can go if you want." Harry didn't respond, but he turned slightly and leaned into Draco's arm. Draco tightened the grip slightly and the two remained still. Draco's soft breathing in contrast to the hitch in Harry's breathing. Finally, he spoke into the dark hair. "I think you need some sleep." 

Twisting slightly, Draco sat up and came down onto his knees at Harry's side. Then carefully, he slipped one arm around Harry's shoulders and the other under his knees. "Come on." 

He straightened, lifting the slight body, surprised at how light Harry was, and carried him into the bedroom.

********************

I wish I knew how it would feel to be free I wish I could break all the chains holding me I wish I could say all the things that I should say Say 'em loud say 'em clear For the whole wide world to hear (I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel To Be) Free/One -- _Lighthouse Family_

--------------------

**Chapter 2: Boys just want to have fun... **The aftermath of New Year. More snow. The Gryffindor Dorm Debating Society and much more.

Hagrid's alcoholic homebrew is based on a drink called 'After Shock'.

**Special thanks to my Betas: **Lynn, Ginzai, Ashleigh, Thursday and Josie, who found time over Christmas and the New Year to read this and give me their comments.

Any reviews are more than welcome, either here on the Fiction Alley Board (click on review), to me at frances@forever.u-net.com or feel free to post your comments at the following Yahoo group http://groups.yahoo.com/group/HP_comingofage. 


	2. Boys just want to have fun

**Title: Resolution. Chapter 2: Boys just want to have fun (2/?)**

**Author name:** Frances Potter

**Author email:** frances@forever.u-net.com

**Category:** Slash (Harry/Draco), Humour, Romance, Angst

**Keywords:** Harry, Draco, 7th year, Slash

**Spoilers:** All books

**Rating:** R. Slash. Male/Male relationships. Language. Adult themes. (I don't think this chapter is actually R rated, but I am just being careful.)

**Summary: **res·o·lu·tion, noun -- solving of doubts, problems, questions etc. The Concise Oxford Dictionary

When you've spent six years fighting evil, all you really want is a quiet time. But when your name is Harry Potter the chances of that are very slim. A series of vignettes chronicling Harry's final six months at Hogwarts. Exams, friends, lovers, Quidditch, the war and Draco all conspire to make the year end seem a very long way away. Slash (Harry/Draco)

**Chapter 2: Boys just want to have fun...** The aftermath of New Year. More snow. Potions.

**Disclaimer: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Dedication: **This chapter is dedicated to **_Aja_**, who has lead me by the hand through this chapter. Thank you Aja.

--------------------

Resolution Chapter 2: Boys just want to have fun... _If there were no barriers, what would you want?_

Draco Malfoy had never needed much sleep. He never stopped to consider whether or not this was due to the fact he didn't need it, or had become used to not getting it. He had trained himself from an early age to exist on the minimum in order to keep up with the punishing work schedules his father and tutors gave him.

Even during holidays the workload didn't let up. He would spend hours in the library at Malfoy Manor researching projects given to him by his father, or undertaking extramural studies that he knew it would not be wise to discuss with anyone at Hogwarts. Sometimes it was difficult to remember what he should and should _not _have knowledge of during his lessons at Hogwarts.

Nowadays, he was able to get by on just a few hours sleep a night if necessary. Leading up to his Lower Sixth exams, he had often gone without sleep for several days at a time. And it had worked. Draco had finally managed to come top in his year, beating Hermione Granger for the first time.

Draco's features hardened slightly at the memory and he realised he was twisting his hands in the tatty grey blanket around his shoulders. It was supposed to have been one of the best days of his life, but even that small joy had been taken away from him. He had expected her to be devastated, or at least a little upset, but Granger had actually had the nerve to come across to the Slytherin table and congratulate him. And what had he done in response? Only said 'Thank you'. The two words had come out before he had had a chance to think about them, or to whom he was talking. He remembered hearing Vincent snigger and silencing the other's mirth with a hard stare. When he had turned back the Gryffindor had gone, returning to her own group of friends, and he had been left feeling somehow cheated.

It still hurt now and he was determined to show it had not been some sort of fluke. He would finish his schooling at Hogwarts top of his year and with perfect grades. Dumbledore might manage to fix things so that Slytherin didn't win the House Cup, but the Headmaster would not falsify the exam results and Draco knew he could win those on his own merit.

If he could just concentrate and keep his act together for the next six months.

Draco closed his eyes, head dropping back against the pillows. Despite all his assertions to the contrary, he was tired, and in more than just the physical sense. Sometimes he felt he was wound up so tightly that one day he might just explode. It was all very well keeping the cool, calm exterior, but just this once he would like to shout and scream at people like everyone else did.

The sigh, when it came, was from a place very deep inside him. Why couldn't life be simple? He remembered the brief conversation between himself and Professor Dumbledore after the change in the Malfoy's Christmas plans. Dumbledore had actually asked him if he was all right. Of course Draco had responded that he was fine, but there had been something in the old man's eyes -- the way he had looked at him -- that had gotten under Draco's skin. He had felt as if the professor were able to read his thoughts and know how upset he really was. And what great advice had he given Draco? "Don't worry, my boy, it will all come out in the wash".

What the hell was that supposed to mean? If Dumbledore had to give advice, couldn't he at least make it clear what he meant?

Draco wondered briefly what the Professor thought about him being here with 'precious' Harry. Wasn't he concerned that the notorious son of Lucius Malfoy was on his own with The Boy Who Lived? For that matter, why had Dumbledore let him remain at Hogwarts at all? All during the summer after the Triwizard Tournament and the supposed return of Voldemort, Draco had expected to receive an Owl telling him not to return to the school. Of course it had never arrived and he was left speculating just what went on in Dumbledore's head.

As he had pointed out to Harry the previous day, Dumbledore had his own motives and agenda just as everyone else did.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and finally opened his eyes again, blinking away the sleepiness. Not sleeping had become almost an obsession; as he strived for more knowledge he would strive for less sleep.

So to have spent most of the previous 24 hours doing nothing seemed a great waste of time and he was now feeling ... twitchy. He smiled ruefully -- twitchy like a ferret. Would he ever lose that as a nickname after what Moody did to him? It still hurt -- the humiliation had bitten deeply and he wondered now whether that was why he had been so bitter during his Fourth Year; seeing Harry once again win all the accolades while he had nothing. Oh, how he had _hated_ Potter back then, and the fact he'd been cursed by all of those little Gryffindors on the train did nothing to change his views. His mother had been forced to come onto the platform to collect him from the Hogwarts Express after what they did. She had spent the entire journey home telling him what an embarrassment he was to the family.

How things changed.

He shifted slightly against the headboard of the bed as the person next to him turned over and settled on his left side, facing the Slytherin. Draco looked down at the black head and resisted the impulse to touch the hair and brush it back from the sleeping boy's face. The flickering light of the candle on the bedside table cast Harry Potter's features into shadow, but Draco noticed the way the light caught his cheekbone and the edge of his ear.

He had never in his wildest fantasies (and some were extremely wild) expected to spend the night watching Harry Potter sleep. The fantasies normally ended with Harry throwing him out of the room way before anyone managed to fall asleep! Not, of course, that he was prone to fantasies or that he only fantasised about Harry.

Where exactly was that hate for Harry now? When had it all shifted and become something else? Something... different?

"Stupid question, Malfoy," he whispered to himself. He knew exactly the moment it had changed.

Draco moved away a little and pulled the covers back over Harry's shoulder, fingers lingering on the white sheet for a fraction longer than necessary.

Quidditch. Gryffindor vs. Slytherin. Saturday 25th April 1996. As for an exact time, it had been between 3.45 and 4.15 in the afternoon.

Harry had, as normal, managed to get the Snitch before Draco. In fact, he had all but snatched it out of Draco's hand in a most audacious move, which Draco protested as illegal. The match had been the season decider and the victors would win the Quidditch Cup. No one had listened and he remembered sitting in the Great Hall that evening watching Harry and wanting to ram the Snitch right down the Gryffindor's throat.

The following evening the houses were already eating when Harry and the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team arrived dressed in their scarlet and gold robes. A spontaneous burst of applause had arisen from three quarters of the students.

Then Harry had taken off his robes.

Draco remembered the moment as though it was engraved on his mind. Those green eyes had stared across the room at him as Harry had disrobed to reveal a Slytherin T-shirt. Emblazoned across the front it said:

_My team lost to Gryffindor and all I got was this lousy t-shirt_

Harry had then turned round and across the back it had read:

_Draco Malfoy, Slytherin Seeker_

Of course everyone had laughed -- even some of the Slytherins had laughed, until they had seen Draco's face. The audacity of the Gryffindor had shocked him. Harry had never done anything so calculating to him in all the years they had traded insults and angry fights. And to do it in front of the whole school as well -- it had almost been worthy of a Slytherin.

Deep down, if he had cared to admit it, he'd felt just a little admiration.

And that was when the fantasies had started. They alternated between the image of ramming the Snitch down Harry's throat and a new one that involved ripping that T-shirt off and strangling Harry with it.

He couldn't actually remember when the Snitch and the strangulation parts had disappeared, leaving him with just the ripped shirt and Harry's sweet mouth. At first he had been surprised and more than a little perturbed that Harry's impudence should provoke such... imagery. Other scenarios joined the originals and after a while they became surprisingly comfortable and comforting. In fact, the numerous fantasies of what he might do to Harry had livened many a dark, dismal night.

What did disturb him, however, was that sometimes they would unexpectedly tumble into his mind during a shared class, or when they were both sitting in the Great Hall. Once there'd been one involving Quidditch protection gear and nothing else. He didn't think he'd been staring at Harry, but the Gryffindor's head had snapped up and Harry had glared menacingly across the Hall at him.

Draco smiled at the thought of those fiery eyes, and he looked back down at the sleeping figure now wrapped in the white sheets. Draco was actually on top of the bedclothes, still dressed in the clothes Harry had given him.

Fantasies aside, the one thing his vigil had convinced him of was that any change in his relationship with Harry was out of the question. They were destined to remain on opposite sides of a conflict that looked ready to explode into real violence before very long. If he hadn't been convinced of this fact before, then Harry's questions the previous evening showed how unlikely it was that they would ever be able to reach a peace or find any common ground.

Harry had asked, "Are you going to join him?" And Draco knew full well what he had been alluding to. No couching in riddles when Potter asked the questions.

Was he prepared to pledge his allegiance to Voldemort when the time came? He had seen that Mark on his father's arm and knew he was expected to follow where his father lead.

Duty, obligation, obedience. Add to that family honour.

These things were as much a part of him as breathing. His whole belief structure was bound up in them. How could he throw it all away? Erase everything he believed to be right? Betray the trust his father had placed in him? _"You are important to our cause, never forget that,"_ Lucius had told him just a few weeks ago.

But could he really take part in a fight against Harry? Face him in a conflict he didn't really feel a part of? Could he kill the boy asleep next to him? He might as well suffocate Harry now -- it would be better than looking into those eyes should he ever point his wand at Harry and utter the Killing curse.

Besides, hadn't he already disobeyed his father? He should have told him Harry was here, unprotected, so that the Death Eaters could come and get him. How could he do it now after what they had shared the previous day?

Draco swore under his breath. They had shared nothing! Okay, so he'd gotten caught in that bloody snowstorm and been forced to shelter here and they had talked. That didn't mean suddenly they were the best of friends, did it? He hadn't asked Potter (call him Potter -- it makes things easier -- Potter) to open up, to become all-vulnerable....

He heard Harry move again, a rustle of fabric in the stillness of the early morning, as he turned onto his back. A hand fought free of the covers, pushing them away. Draco tried not to look down at the form beside him, tried not to notice how trusting that so-familiar face had become in sleep. How honest. How...

How different this... closeness he felt for Harry was to anything else he had ever experienced. There had been others he had cared for -- other relationships in his short life. His first sexual experience had been with a tutor two summers before. Stacey Cooper had been rather older than he, it had to be said, but she certainly had known her way around a body. He remembered with fondness her chocolaty-brown skin and curly black hair. Not unlike Harry's hair, he mused. Not only had Stacey introduced him to the pleasures of the flesh, but also to Muggle literature. Unfortunately his father had found out about the latter and had fired her on the spot. Most of the books had been destroyed, but Draco had managed to hide a few away. 

Then last summer it had been his rather attractive male Quidditch coach and the memory of that still elicited a flush of pleasure. Alex Palmer had left Hogwarts the year before Draco had started there and still played Seeker for the Montrose Magpies. Draco had wondered why someone in Alex's position would be willing to coach a 17-year old, but the Seeker had just shrugged off the question. With his short dark hair and amazing brown eyes, Alex had certainly taught him some tricks on a broomstick. Then Draco had fallen from his broom and torn the ligament in his knee, and their relationship had changed.

It had, of course, been different from what he had shared with Stacey, but equally as pleasant, and Draco remembered both occasions affectionately. In between those two relationships, he had done some fumbling with fellow students at Hogwarts, but none were as successful or as fulfilling. During the Lower Sixth, he had been involved with a Slytherin in the year above, but that had ended rather acrimoniously with the girl screaming at him in the middle of the Slytherin common room because she had caught him kissing someone else.

They had all seemed so easy to deal with compared to this. Draco had the sudden urge to hit Harry, as if in violence he could expel the demons creeping through his mind, filling him with thoughts and ideas which were not possible.

He wouldn't... couldn't have any sort of relationship with Potter other than what they already had: that of adversaries both fighting for different sets of ideals, so far apart they might as well be from different planets.

And yet he knew there was a knot of emotion deep inside, hiding feelings he didn't really want to think about -- hadn't thought about consciously until now: a feeling that he would give almost anything to have a friend such as Harry. For the first time since he had met Ron Weasley, Draco was envious of the relationship the two boys shared.

The flash of comprehension, as he realised what that statement meant, hit him so hard for a moment he didn't think he would ever breathe again. It hadn't mattered what he and Harry had talked about the previous day, the fact of the matter was that they had 'talked' and that was the important thing. He had acquaintances in the Slytherin house, but not friends -- at least none whom he termed friends. They would easily betray him, as he would them.

But to have a friend, someone like Harry, to talk with, to discuss things, to spend time, to play chess -- all the things he knew the Weasel did. He wanted someone he could go to when he'd found out something interesting and wonderful, and know that person would be interested in it because of him and not for what they could get out it for themselves. Whatever his views were of Harry, he had never been in any doubt that the boy was sincere in his beliefs and actions. He wanted someone he could sit quietly with in front of that big fire out in the lounge, someone he would know so well they wouldn't need to talk. Could he ever feel that with Harry? Experience that peace and belonging?

Unconsciously he chewed on his lower lip as an image came unbidden to his thoughts. Nothing sexual this time, but a quiet serene moment of peace. Of Draco curled up in one of those big armchairs with a book and Harry resting his head against Draco's knee. Quiet, tranquil. No war, no Voldemort, no obligations except to each other. 

Draco swallowed, realising that the thought actually scared him. To have feelings for someone in a fantasy was fine; after all, what harm could it do? But to bring those emotions into the cold clear light of day was almost unthinkable.

"My father hates him," Draco whispered out aloud. _But do I?_ his inner self asked. Just what did he want?

_What do you want, Draco?_ It asked. _If there were no barriers, what would you want?_

He wanted to touch the tanned skin, a shade darker than his own pale colouring; wanted to taste it against his tongue. Wanted to feel that dark hair, which he now knew was as soft as his own, spread across his chest. Harry let out a gentle sigh, and somewhere in the depths of Draco's mind he wanted to believe Harry could read his thoughts, and that the sound was acquiescence to them; that he could bend down now and taste the moist flesh at Harry's bared throat. Then taste those slightly parted lips... Touch the curve of his neck where the outline of his collarbone was visible.

Harry wouldn't know, those thoughts intoned; he was so deeply asleep he wouldn't realise. But what, Draco mused, was the point of that? He would want Harry to know, to be part of it, to join in and touch him in return.

A sob suddenly escaped from somewhere deep inside Draco. A single soft cry of anguish, which hurt because he didn't have an excuse for it or an answer for what had caused it. In the end he could do nothing but reach out and brush the hair from Harry's face, soft strands tangling momentarily with his fingers.

The whole issue was moot anyway. This would end now, before it even had a chance to begin; before he found himself embroiled in something out of his control. Harry was the hated enemy of his family. If his father found out he was even considering the possibility of friendship with Potter, Draco dreaded to think of the consequences. He was supposed to be finding ways to hand Harry over to the Death Eaters, for fuck's sake!

What was it Harry had asked him the previous evening? "Do you think we could spend our last six months here not fighting?" Draco could do that. And Harry's other request? "You can just ignore me." That would be harder, but he could even ignore Harry if that would help. Maybe ignoring was the best thing he could do.

Besides, he had no idea what Harry's reaction might be to any overtures of friendship. One drunken evening was not a basis for anything, especially not an intimate friendship. Plus, Harry had rejected him once before and Draco knew he couldn't take such rejection a second time.

He climbed from the bed, wrapping the blanket around his thin shoulders and watched the slight rise and fall of Harry's chest.

********************

Harry didn't remember going to bed, so when he finally woke up it came as a surprise to find himself actually IN bed.

He knew it was morning because it was daylight outside. The curtains had been drawn back and sunshine was streaming into the room. What the actual time was Harry had absolutely no idea.

Not moving, he spent a long time just staring at the ceiling. It was out of focus and it took him several minutes to realise why. He disentangled a hand from beneath the cotton sheets and slowly reached for his face. No, he definitely did not have on his glasses. Too heavy to hold up any longer, the hand dropped to the floral patterned bedspread. He debated for a moment whether to look for his glasses, but decided in the end it would take too much effort just at that moment.

Instead, he studied the rather large cobweb around the light fitting. A suitably impressive spider was doing whatever spiders do when there's nothing for them to catch. Somewhere deep in the back of his mind, Harry remembered thinking that it was a good thing Ron wasn't there. Ron hated spiders. The spider set off on a journey across the ceiling and headed for another web in the corner of the room. No doubt, Harry mused, looking for fresh pickings. He wondered whether it would have any better luck there.

Stretching lazily, Harry let out a long contented sigh and thought about getting up. But the bed was so warm and soft and inviting. "Five more minutes," he murmured as he turned away from the window. Pulling the covers back over his shoulder, he wiggled down into the warm depths. It was only at that point that he realised he still wearing the shirt from the previous day. He threw back the bed covers and his blurred gaze took in the fact that he was also wearing his jeans. He grimaced at having slept in his clothes and tried to remember what had happened.

Slowly at first, then gathering momentum, the memories of the previous day began to surface. The snow ... Draco arriving almost frozen to death ... Harry undressing the Slytherin (a hot flush crept through him at the memory) ... Draco helping with his homework ... 

Getting drunk ...

Talking -- Oh God. A hand went to Harry's forehead. What on earth did I say to him?

Draco picking him up -- Had he really let Draco pick him up?

Draco putting him on the bed -- Oh God. A second hand joined the first.

Where the hell was Draco?

Harry froze before tentatively flexing a leg out under the dishevelled blankets, searching for another body. His toes touched nothing in their search of the huge bed and eventually he turned over, checking visually what he had already ascertained by touch. Yes, he was alone. Maybe the whole Draco thing was a dream -- well, not the whole thing, but the getting drunk bit and the putting to bed bit.

He sighed deeply and was surprised to feel a little shock of cold from the strange concoction Hagrid had brewed. Okay, so the drunken bit wasn't a dream. His experience of alcohol was actually non-existent, but this drink was, indeed, an experience. Considering how much he'd drunk, Harry was feeling surprisingly well. Hagrid might not be very good at cooking, but his brewing skills were excellent. A triumph in fact.

Harry finally pushed himself up onto his elbow and scrabbled on the bedside table, hoping to find his glasses there. It was empty, and he rolled over to check the table on the other side. Fingers closed around the familiar frames, and he put them on, blinking a couple of times to clear his vision before hauling himself up against the pillows. He yawned again, fingers clasping behind his neck as he stretched his head backwards, releasing a small knot of tension. Then, equally as slowly, both hands pushed through the untidy sleep-tussled hair before he hugged himself, content to sit very still for a moment in that pre-awakened state which could so easily revert to sleep again. Eyes closed for a moment, his head dropped lazily onto one shoulder and he contemplated remaining exactly where he was for the rest of the day.

He drifted happily in that state for several minutes until the knot of tension in his neck crept back. Eyelids fluttered open and green eyes stared across the room, focusing on the enormous overstuffed chair near the window. Harry froze. He was not, after all, alone.

Draco was awake and watching him with those grey eyes and an unreadable expression on his face. Harry noticed the Slytherin was still wearing the Dudley cast-offs he had given him the previous day, and he looked surprisingly small in the giant-size chair, legs curled up, leaning against a couple of pillows.

For a moment Harry did not move.

Draco was watching him.

It took a moment for the concept to seep into his sleep-addled brain, but when he finally acknowledged the fact, he was surprised by his immediate thoughts and reactions. What gave Draco the right to sit there and watch him sleep? Sleep was personal. Sleep was something he did on his own, not with people watching. He'd slept on his own all his life. First in the cupboard, then in Dudley's second bedroom. Even here at Hogwarts where he shared a room, he still shut himself away behind the hangings of his four-poster bed.

He felt surprisingly vulnerable under the unwavering gaze and realised that unconsciously he had pulled the sheets back up over himself. Why the bloody hell didn't Draco do the decent thing and look away?

Harry held the grey gaze for a moment longer, before swallowing nervously and looking elsewhere -- anywhere would do, as long at it wasn't at Draco. He tried to find the spider again. Nervous? Was Draco making him nervous? Harry peeked down at his hands holding the sheet up near his neck and realised he was. And it got worse the longer he thought about things. Had Draco been sitting in that chair all night? Had he been awake watching him? What was he thinking behind that steel stare?

Finally, unable to take any more, Harry threw back the covers and came to his feet on the opposite side of the bed from where Draco sat. He tugged unconsciously at his shirt and again met the other's gaze. Clearing his throat, he spoke with a voice that was just a little croaky. "Malfoy."

There was no immediate response. Instead the grey eyes continued watching him for a moment. Then the long legs unfolded and Draco came to his feet. Harry waited for him to speak, but instead Draco turned on his heel and left. Blinking in surprise, Harry just stood there, staring at the now closed door.

********************

The kitchen was warm and the smell of fresh baked bread wafted from the oven. The pine table had been set for breakfast and steam spiralled from both tea and coffee pots. Eyes hard, Draco folded his arms across his chest as he looked at the delightful domestic scene spread out before him. There were even two place settings at the table. His fingers began tapping an angry beat. Bloody house-elves got everywhere. And seemed to know everything.

He lifted the cover from one of the serving dishes. Scrambled eggs and smoked salmon. His favourite, but rather decadent for Hogwarts. There were also croissants, and he realised that the coffee pot contained his own personal blend. If he didn't know better, he would have assumed Harry had organised the whole thing. Not that Harry would have had any idea what his personal blend of coffee was.

No, it had to be that wretched Dobby, who used to be one of the Malfoy house-elves and whom everybody knew had a soft spot for Harry. 

Picking up the coffee pot, Draco filled a cup and added more sugar than was good for him. It tasted like heaven on his tongue and his eyelids fluttered closed for a moment in appreciation. Then he turned to the line of washing still strung across the room. His clothes, carefully hung up to dry the previous day by Harry. Draco pursed his lips, and set them in a hard line. If the situation had been reversed, it wouldn't even have occurred to him to put the clothes out to dry.

Was this a typical 'Harry' gesture? The Gryffindor did always look after waifs and strays, which was probably something to do with being one himself. He didn't really want to think about this. Didn't want to analyse why Harry would make 'gestures'.

He began collecting the items off the line. He needed to get out of the cottage and away from here before Harry surfaced and started asking questions. Discussing the previous day was not something he was prepared to do.

********************

When Harry surfaced, he found Draco dressed in his ski gear digging in the snow by the front door. He watched him for a moment, shivering in the icy blast from the open door. "Malfoy."

Draco didn't look up, but carried on with his work, finally digging the first ski out from under several inches of snow. "Potter."

"Um. Do you need any help?"

"No." He straightened and looked off into the distance. A brief pause ensued before Draco continued. "Thank you."

Harry's eyebrows disappeared into his heavy fringe. Draco had said 'thank you'. Why? Harry found himself so used to questioning the Slytherin's motives, that these two simple words, so out of place when coming from Draco, set Harry to wondering and worrying. "Are you going to ski back?" As soon as he asked it the question sounded not only banal to Harry, but also rather stupid. How else was Draco going to get back?

"How else do you expect me to get back?" Draco raised a hand to shield his eyes, squinting into the distance. Had he seen something move out in the white world?

Harry shrugged even though Draco couldn't see the movement. He watched the red and yellow-clad back for a moment, eyes boring into it in an effort to uncover what Draco was thinking. A question kept running round and round in his head -- _Did you spend all night watching me? _What he actually asked was much simpler: "Do you know the way?"

Draco didn't look up from his task. The second ski was harder to extract from the snow. It had frozen to the ground and he had to tug at it. "I'll probably go back the way I came." He didn't want to admit he had no idea where they were. The idea of spending hours retracing his steps was doing nothing for his growing mood of frustration, which wasn't helped by having Harry hovering so close to his shoulder. He pulled the second ski free.

"Hogsmeade is about half a mile that way." Harry's finger pointed in the opposite direction to Draco's intended route. He thought he was being helpful, but the response when it came was not what he had expected.

"What?" Draco turned to face him, a look of cold annoyance playing across the pale features. Eyes narrowed slightly as the posture shifted to arrogant anger.

Harry just stared, shocked into silence by the look. Underneath the anger he could see the same eyes that had been watching him in the bedroom, but the fury had brought out the dusky blue he had seen the previous day. The same colour that had reminded him of frost covered rivers. This time he thought of icebergs and the one-third that was above the water and two-thirds below. What was in the two-thirds of Draco he kept hidden behind that cool, calculated gaze Harry found himself wondering?

Harry mentally shook himself. Enough of the metaphors. What would he be thinking of next? How cute Draco looked in that ski jacket maybe? That was not, he reminded himself a metaphor for anything. "Hogsmeade is just up the road," he finally repeated. "We're about 15 minutes from the school by broom."

"You have your broom here?"

"Of course. How else do you think I got here?" Harry folded his arms defiantly.

Draco glared at him; the look covering up the fact that he was actually entranced by the fact the cold had made the hairs on Harry's bare arms stand on end. And he realised for the first time that Harry had washed and changed. His hair was damp, clearly just towel-dried, and he was now in a dark green t-shirt. He wanted to tell him to go and put something warm on, that he shouldn't be standing in the cold with wet hair, but instead it came out as: "Are you telling me I could have left any time I wanted? That I didn't have to spend the night here with _you_?"

Harry tried hard not to gasp at the stinging tone. "You didn't ask," he shot back. "And besides, I wouldn't lend you my broom if your life depended on it."

"Good, because I'd hate to upset you by refusing." Draco clicked his boots into the toe grips with more force than necessary. Things were not going according to plan. He hated himself for the reactions Harry was eliciting from him, hated feeling so vulnerable as he did standing here in front of the Gryffindor. And the only thing he could do at that moment was to be a real bastard. "Why don't you go and enjoy breakfast before it gets cold."

Harry blinked, his arms dropping to his side. "You made breakfast?"

"I don't cook." Sarcasm dripped. "I leave that to the house-elves. They laid on quite a spread for you today. And I thought you cooked last night."

"I did and I don't have any house-elves here."

"You do today. Maybe Dumbledore sent them." He reached for the ski poles and pushed off.

"Draco..."

"What?"

"Can we talk... later?"

"No."

"I'd like to talk about yesterday."

"No you wouldn't, Harry. Just forget this and go back to your safe little Gryffindor world."

"What?" Harry stepped out into the snow, four strides bringing him in front of Draco. "Why do you have to be such a git all the time?" 

"Get out of my way." And get back inside before you freeze to death, Draco wanted to add.

"My safe world? I'm not the one running away, Malfoy. If you had any guts you'd come right back inside now and _talk to me_!" Harry clasped his arms tightly to his body, shivering with the cold. "You have no right to just walk out now."

"Why? You think one drink and a quick snog gives you some hold over me?"

"I..." Harry looked shocked and stepped back. What had Draco just said? "I..."

Draco gave a hard smile as he pushed past Harry, his path now clear. "Don't worry Potter, I haven't sullied your reputation yet. I wouldn't kiss you if you were the last person in the world." He pushed off again, not looking back at those green eyes although he could feel them boring into the back of his head.

Harry watched until Draco had disappeared from view. He stood there for some time, shivering both from the cold and from the harshness of Draco's words.

********************

Some distance away, he watched through Omnioculars, noting the exchange between the two boys, taking in the body language from pleasant to angry. He had known that Potter was here, but it was a surprise to see Lucius Malfoy's son as well. What would Lucius think if he knew?

He lowered the Omnioculars and took out his wand, carefully pointing it at the cottage. Magic shimmered like a heat haze from the building and his expression became thoughtful. Only the simplest protection spells. The expression slowly changed into a hard smile. Someone, he thought, should tell Mr Potter to be much more careful where he spent his time and who he spent it with.

********************

The letter arrived a week later. Draco recognised the family owl as it swooped into the Great Hall even though several other birds surrounded it. It paused in its journey for a moment, settling on one of the wooden rafters as though it were waiting for something.

Draco frowned and then realised the owl wanted him to leave the room. He got to his feet and headed for the door. As he did, the owl took off again and flew back the way it had come.

He arrived in the main courtyard just as the owl swooped over the castle rooftops and alighted on the shoulder of a statue. Rubbing his already cold hands, Draco reached for the note attached to the owl's leg. It took off almost immediately, circling once before disappearing from sight behind the walls.

Shivering in the bitter wind, Draco turned the square of parchment over and over in his hands. The Malfoy family seal stared back at him and he subconsciously ran a hand back through his hair. It was clearly from his father, but why was he not allowed to receive it in front of everyone else? He ran a finger across the seal and watched as it changed, showing a subtly different design. Incorporated within the image was a Death Mark

Draco stood very still for a moment. Not even the cold could make him shiver at that moment. He contemplated not opening the message at all, turning it to ash instead. But he knew the fact it was never opened would register at home, and how would he explain that?

Glancing furtively about him, he slipped a nail under the seal and allowed the letter to open. The cream paper was blank as he unfolded it, but almost instantly, as though written by an invisible hand, his father's handwriting began to cover the sheet. It disappeared almost as soon as the following word was completed and Draco had to read fast to keep up with the short message.

_Draco: Word has reached me that Harry Potter is spending time away from the protection of the school. I have also been told that you knew about this and where he is staying. I am very disappointed that you have chosen to keep this information to yourself. This Portkey is to be used when Potter is away from the school. You will make sure he uses it. Do not let me down again._

As he read the word 'Portkey', a small coin dropped to the ground, embedding itself in the slushy remains of the snow. The parchment suddenly seemed to crumple in on itself, as though burning with an invisible flame. It disintegrated, the tiny fragments blown off in the cold wind.

He stared down at the coin for several minutes. His father was 'very disappointed' in him. 'Disappointed' for Lucius meant he was actually furious. How had he found out about Harry? And more importantly, how did he find out that Draco knew? As far as Draco was aware, the only people who knew about the New Year tryst apart from himself and Harry were Dumbledore and the nurse. Of course, Harry could have told all manner of people, but no one had mentioned it -- not even Harry himself.

The mere idea of upsetting his father made Draco flinch with trepidation. The whole incident before Christmas was bad enough, but this? The fact that his father had been prepared to send such a letter proved how incensed he must be. If a ministry agent had intercepted it, the consequences didn't bear thinking about for anyone in the Malfoy family.

But how had his father found out? He remembered that moment at the cottage when he had been trying to get his skis out of the snow. That movement and a flash of light off of glass -- he had been so sure he had seen something in the distance. Someone had been watching.

Watching Harry. And if they had been watching Harry, then they would have seen him as well.

Draco finally bent down and picked up the coin. Then as he rose back up, he deliberately turned in a slow circle, eyes taking in all the dark empty windows surrounding him. Was he being watched now? Did his father have spies here at Hogwarts? Did Voldemort have his followers here within these walls? Suddenly the once friendly castle seemed a very dangerous place, not only for Harry but for himself as well. What had once seemed like a game suddenly became very, very real.

He flipped the coin between his fingers, studying it. His father must know he had spent time with Harry and that was why he had sent the Portkey. It would not work here, within the confines of the school, or in the village of Hogsmeade itself. But if the cottage was unprotected then Harry could easily be taken from it. It would be so easy to meet Harry there and hand him this innocent looking coin. And that was exactly what his father expected him to do.

_Do not let me down again._

His beloved father's words echoed through Draco's mind. He could hear the familiar voice speaking them. Hear the disappointed intonation in the word 'again'. How could he not do as his father asked?

And yet how could he send Harry to his death?

Draco realised it was snowing again. Cold, wet dismal flakes that soaked quickly into his robes. He had never considered what the consequences of allying himself with someone such as Voldemort would really mean. How many times had his father's view of life been pounded into him over the years? Draco knew the rhetoric by heart and had never had cause to doubt its validity. In fact even as he stood here now, getting progressively wetter by the minute, he still believed that as a Pureblood he had been born into the elite of the Wizarding world. That he was superior to the Halfbloods and Mudbloods who infested his world. That he would take his rightful place as a member of the ruling class.

But could he kill people to do that? He looked towards the door that would take him back into the school and realised instead of just seeing his fellow students as Halfbloods and Mudbloods, they had become people. Real flesh and blood people.

Finnegan the Halfblood laughed and talked and played Quidditch just as he did.

Granger the Mudblood studied and learned and talked just as he did.

What if his father... if Voldemort... told him to kill these people? Could he destroy them without a single thought? Brush them aside like the vermin his father had taught him to believe they were? 

Two weeks ago he would never had questioned his father's instructions, but now things didn't seem quite so clear. Quite so ordered. Quite so easy.

He couldn't bring himself to go back into the school. To face those people he despised. Those living, breathing people who he might one day have to destroy. Instead he pocketed the coin and strode out into the school grounds with no idea of where he was going any more. 

********************

**_Harry's Journal -- Saturday 10th January 1998 _**

Got up. Showered. Had breakfast. Am now sitting in my dorm writing this rubbish. Weather: Sunny!

Isn't that what journals are all about? Writing all the stupid little things you do each day? At least that's what I've always thought they were for. Anyway, aren't diaries for girls? Manly boys don't pour out their angst onto paper. That would make it all a bit too real, wouldn't it?

I know Ginny keeps a diary, even after what happened in her first year with the whole Tom Riddle and Heir of Slytherin thing. I've bought her a diary every year since -- at least that way I know she'll be safe writing in it.

Rumour has it that Hermione has a diary too, but no one has ever seen her writing in it. Neville thinks she's storing up things to blackmail us with. Dean thinks she's going to sell it to Witch Weekly -- "I was a Gryffindor sex slave: The truth behind the closed doors of Hogwarts"! Seamus doesn't have much to say since he started dating Hermione. He used to be her worst critic as well. As for Ron, I think he's a bit peeved that Seamus beat him to asking Hermione for a date. Still, that's his fault; he's had plenty of time to ask her out.

So why am I wasting a perfectly good Saturday morning scribbling in this journal? Professor Dumbledore gave me the book -- it must have very expensive, the parchment is very nice, I might even try some drawing later. He thought it might help if I wrote down my feelings about what happened at The Burrow, something about therapy and getting it out of my system.

Well, it will take more than a few words on this paper to deal with what happened there.

I started writing last summer at Privet Drive, but never got very far with it. Then I've tried again over the last few months and I know it doesn't help, not really. I just keep writing the same thing over and over again.

Voldemort. The Burrow being destroyed. Voldemort. Ron injured falling 50 feet from a broom. Voldemort. Me killing a Death Eater before he killed Ron.

And let's not forget Voldemort!

Writing doesn't help. I need to TALK to someone.

Not Ron, of course, he's made it clear he doesn't want to talk about it and who can blame him. The fall shattered his leg so badly he was lucky not to lose it. If he'd been a Muggle he probably would have. The injury was bad enough to keep him out of school for several months and he still has a pronounced limp.

Hermione? She always listens and maybe that's my problem with her. I unload on to her so much already and I'm just not sure how much more I can really expect her to take.

Ginny? I don't think I could ever talk to her about anything so personal. Besides, it was her house that got destroyed and her family nearly killed. I should be there for her, not the other way round. 

My dorm mates? Seamus, Dean and Neville. These boys are the best, but I am not going to pour out this to them.

Professor Dumbledore? Well, I've spoken to him already and he always ends up saying the same thing -- "How do you feel, Harry?" 

Him? Am I really adding _him_ to the growing list of Harry Potter Counsellors? Would I really want to pour out all my manly angst to him? Two weeks ago I hated the guy and would have happily thrown him off the Astronomy Tower given half the chance. But now? As Professor Dumbledore would say, "How do you feel, Harry?"

How do I feel?

Bollocks, I'm going out to have a snowball fight -- that's how I feel!

---------------

**_Later that same day..._**

Now, that was fun -- 20 Upper Sixth students beating the crap out of each other with snowballs! We made a real spectacle of ourselves, considering the First and Second Years were out there as well. I think Snape wanted to give each of us a detention, but he couldn't prove we threw the snow off the roof onto him.

The afternoon was spent playing Exploding Snap in the Gryffindor Common Room! How old are we? I think the final score was one game to me and the rest to everyone else.

And now? Well, I'm down in the Great Hall. Supper will be in an hour, so it is quiet here at the moment. A house-elf arrived about ten minutes ago with a pot of tea and cakes. They must be mind readers because I didn't ask for it.

He was out there. Him. Of course, he wasn't throwing snowballs -- that would be a little beneath him, wouldn't it. You wouldn't catch him prancing around stuffing snow down people's necks like the rest of us. No, he was out there on his skis showing off to his little Slytherin audience. I didn't see him at first, then there was a flash of yellow and red off in the distance. He had on the ski gear I had removed back on New Year's Eve. At one point he was trying to teach Blaise Zabini the basic movements, all over her like a rash.

I must have been staring because the next thing I knew was the sound of Ron's voice right up close saying, "What a tosser."

Me? I was in the process of taking that jacket off again.

Ha! I can't believe I have just written that. If I could remember the charm I'd erase it. Do you really want to go there, Harry? Really want to put your thoughts about him down here in black and white -- well, violet and cream actually? I love Wizard inks.

Why the hell not? That is, after all, what this journal is supposed to be for isn't it? And, Harry, wasn't one of your New Year's Resolutions going to be to get yourself sorted out?

Pre-1998 resolutions were always the same. Just to get through the next 365 days. But I've got something else to think about this year. My mind and thoughts keep going back what happened at Hagrid's cottage.

The snowstorm. His cold wet skin. The way taking his clothes off made me feel. The way we talked. The FACT we were actually able to talk. If I hadn't lived through those hours, I probably wouldn't believe it possible. It was an ... experience.

It's ridiculous, but I've got on that shirt he was wearing -- one of Dudley's cast-offs, which I would never normally think of wearing outside of my room. It's covered with a jumper today, but there is a strange comfort zone associated with it now.

What am I saying -- it's a fucking shirt for God's sake. Him and this shirt a comfort zone do NOT make.

Pause for a cup of tea and a calm down.

Calm now.

I haven't spoken to him since he left on New Year's Day. In fact, most of the time all I get is an occasional long-distance view down a corridor. If he sees me, he changes direction and goes off somewhere else. When we are up close and personal, he doesn't speak, doesn't throw insults. In fact he hardly acknowledges my presence. It took me about a week to remember my New Years wish had been that he could 'Just ignore me'.

I didn't expect him to take it literally.

You only have yourself to blame, Harry!

The trouble is, I don't want to be ignored. I want to talk to him about what happened that evening -- about what we talked about. About the way he touched me and the way....

********************

A shadow fell across the open journal and Harry glanced up. Grey eyes looked down at him from across the other side of the table.

Harry was not the panicking sort, but he dropped his quill, leaving a huge splash of violet ink across the page. He fumbled with the book, trying to close it before Draco could see any of the words. Once it was closed he subconsciously pulled the journal closer to him and leaned his arms on it, as if protecting his most intimate thoughts from the world.

"Potter." Draco's voice was a whisper, much quieter than normal. 

"Draco." It came out without Harry thinking about it. "Umm."

"Don't call me that," Draco hissed. "Just listen for a moment." He folded his arms across his chest and strutted an arrogant pose. "You need to pretend that I am arguing with you."

"What?" Harry didn't need to pretend anything. He was confused enough to begin arguing at any moment. Draco's body language (and Harry was convinced that after nearly seven years he would have passed a Malfoy Body Language exam with no problem) was saying one thing, but the face was saying something else. Arrogant strut vs. concerned softness. Or maybe, Harry considered, he'd lost track with reality completely and even something as simple as 'Understanding Malfoy' was now a complete impossibility. To make matters worse, he was sure he was starting to blush under the gaze. He could feel the heat rising up his chest and into his neck, and he sensed burning patches on each cheek. _Damn the bastard, why is he doing this to me?_

"There are people around." The blond head tilted slightly, nodding behind him. Harry moved to look around the slim body. "Don't look for fuck's sake. You are bloody hopeless."

Crabbe and Goyle were sitting at the Slytherin table, watching the exchange with intense interest.

"Piss off, Malfoy." The words came out without Harry thinking about them and he cringed the moment they had left his mouth.

"That's better. Harry..." Harry's stomach gave a little flip at the way Draco said his name. "...You need to be careful. I think someone saw you at Hagrid's." He suddenly leaned forward, resting his hands on the table. "If you're going to keep going there you need to make sure the protection spells are better."

Harry suddenly pushed his chair away with a loud scrape on the flagstone floor. "I don't understand. What do you mean? Protection spells?" He balled his fists arrogantly on his hips.

"You just need to be more careful, especially when you are out there on your own. If any of Voldemort's followers..." Draco became silent. He was already risking enough by talking to Harry about this. To insinuate he knew what Voldemort's plans might be was pushing things a little too far. What if the person who had told his father was here in the room now? He glanced quickly around at the few students and two teachers sat up at the high table. Had they all been here at New Year? Had any of them made the same trip he had out to the cottage? Draco turned back and pointed a finger at Harry, gesturing with it as if to make a point. "Just watch your back. It's getting dangerous around here."

Harry suddenly reached across the table and grabbed at Draco's robes. He was pleasantly surprised on two counts. The first was how nice it was to grab those robes. The second was the lovely look of complete surprise on Draco's face. "I want to talk with you." He saw Crabbe come to his feet.

"I told you, things are not safe around here anymore."

He dragged the Slytherin forward, halfway across the table, faces inches apart. "Don't fob me off, Draco."

"Don't push your luck, Harry." Draco pulled himself theatrically from Harry's grasp and pushed him away, the strength in the gesture enough to cause Harry to stagger back a couple of places. Green eyes glared at him with a menace Draco wasn't sure was play-acting. "Look, school starts again Monday. It might be easier to arrange something when everyone is back. I'll see." He dramatically straightened his robes. "Just be careful."

With that Draco turned and gave an exaggerated look of pity to his two classmates as he hooked a finger in Harry's direction. The pair grinned maliciously at each other. He walked away.

"Malfoy." Harry's voice cut through the hall, and the dozen or so people dotted around all looked up. Draco stopped in mid-stride and slowly turned back, his face a blank canvas. "Just watch what you're doing. I'd hate for you to go out on those skis of yours and get lost. Who knows what might happen if you did." The expression did not change, but Harry liked to think there was a sparkle in the grey eyes.

He watched as Draco left the Hall, flanked by the bulk of the dynamic duo. Sitting back down, he opened the journal and looked at the mess from the dropped quill. The inkblot had, fortunately missed the writing, but little splatters covered the page. He picked up the quill and dipped it into the inkbottle. For a moment he looked at the blot and tried to decide what it looked like. It looked a little like Fawkes he decided.

Then, carefully under the inkblot phoenix, Harry wrote, 'He spoke to me.'

********************

"I see that, unfortunately, you have all decided to return." Severus Snape stood in front of the class, arms folded across his chest as he cast his black eyes over the combined Gryffindor/Slytherin class. He couldn't decide what was worse; this group of people when they were 11-year-olds or the teenage hormonal angst-ridden 17-year-olds currently sitting in front of him now. At least at 11, the blossoming of the girls into womanhood didn't distract the boys. He decided to rephrase that in his mind; the boys in this class seemed to be distracted by almost anything -- even a bubbling cauldron was enough for some of them. "Mr Finnegan..."

Seamus looked up suddenly from the piece of parchment he was writing on to find Snape standing over him. He swallowed nervously. "Sir."

"A little early to be taking notes." Snape snatched the parchment from the tabletop and with a quiet authority read the words written on it in red ink. "And a little early for a Valentine as well, don't you think." He very carefully ripped the paper in half and then tore those pieces again. "Kindly refrain from courting Miss Granger in my class room." Turning away, he allowed himself the satisfaction of a small smile as he pictured Hermione blushing with embarrassment. "Ten points from Gryffindor for not being able to think of a more appropriate rhyme for 'potions'."

Seamus' face coloured as the Slytherins sniggered. He glared across at them, muttering a suitable curse, which fortunately for him didn't work without his wand.

Snape had moved to stand behind his large desk, which was covered by a collection of rolled scrolls. He appeared to be counting them. "I see you have all handed in your dissertations. Everyone will have his or her papers returned by the end of the month. If you fail you will have 48 hours to correct your errors and to resubmit the paper. If you still fail you will not be allowed to take the NEWTs."

There was a mumble of dissatisfaction at the strictness of his comment but it was quickly silenced by a look. "We will be concentrating on your practical exams for the rest of this term. You have 12 weeks in which to review everything you should have learned over the last six years. Your practical exam will consist of making four potions, which will be selected randomly from the 24 main potions you should all know by heart. You will not know until the morning of each session which potion you will be making. No textbooks of any sort will be allowed in the exam room." Snape mentally rubbed his hand with glee at the terrified faces before him. "Don't looked so scared, I am quite sure you will all cope." His eyes lingered for a moment on Draco, the only student who didn't look terrified, before moving on to Harry. "Even you, Mr. Potter, should be able to cope." 

Once Harry might have looked down at his hands when picked on by the Potions Master, but today he just quietly met the teacher's eyes. "I will do my best, Professor. And if I pass it will be thanks to your teaching methods."

Snape's eyes narrowed at the backward insult, knowing full well it was a dig at him. He could hardly punish the boy when it looked like he was thanking him for the way he had been taught. "After today you will not bring text books with you. All potions will be prepared from memory. So I suggest you spend your time today familiarizing yourselves with the 24 potions that are on the lists I have already handed out. The format of all classes over the next 12 weeks will be as follows. Your remaining time will be broken into two and a half day sessions. At the beginning of each session I will give you the name of a potion, which must be produced in that time limit. Day One will consist of research and you will spend the day producing a written work on your given potion. This will include ingredients, instructions on how it is produced, what it is for and other details. You will then spend the remaining time preparing the potion. Of course I expect you will all run back to your little common rooms to check whether you have it right." Snape began to walk back and forth across the room. "Which is why you will prepare your potions from the notes you produced the previous day. You may have 10 minutes at the start of Day One to refer to the texts here," he gestured at the bookcases behind him, "but everyone who does so will lose one point for their house."

He stopped by the large blackboard, on which the names of all 24 potions had been written. "Oh and you will each have a study partner with whom you will work. Any questions?"

It was Lavender Brown who finally raised her hand. "Do we get to work with a partner in the exam?"

"Yes. Many of these potions require two people to brew them, remember." Her hand stayed up. "Another question, Miss Brown? We are certainly prolific today, aren't we?"

"Do we get to chose who we work with?"

Harry, who had been quietly chewing at the end of his quill, saw a look on Snape's face which was as close to a smile as he had ever seen. He was sure no one would enjoy what was being planned.

"Of course you get to chose." A ripple of relief ran through the whole class and everyone seemed to be turning expectantly to their friends. Harry meanwhile was more intent on Snape's demeanour. The professor clearly had not finished. "Silence. You will each work with a partner from the other house."

The entire class seemed to be shocked into silence. Then Lavender piped up. "But you just said..."

"I said you get to pick. That doesn't mean you can all remain in your cosy little groups." Finally regaining their power of speech, the complaints slowly becoming more and more audible the longer Snape remained silent. When he spoke again, his commanding voice rose above those of his students. "Be quiet. This is the sort of behaviour I would expect from First Years." He folded his arms and favoured Harry with a hard look. "Gryffindor students will each chose a study partner from Slytherin We will start at the top of the register and work down. Miss Brown, since you have been so vocal today, you get to go first."

********************

"I cannot believe I've ended up paired with Millicent Bulstrode of all people." Ron flopped down on the settee and looked like he just might start crying. "Millicent Bulstrode!"

"Well, there weren't many left by the time it got down to us, were there. Think yourself lucky," Dean joined him. "Did I really ask for Crabbe? It sort of came out without me thinking. Do you think I should start calling him Vincent?" He sniggered a bit. "Oh Vincent, can you chop my shrivel fig please!"

The five Gryffindors joined in the laughter as they sat around the fire in their own dorm. The dorm had magically grown in size each year to accommodate the needs of the five boys. All had been surprised and pleased by what had greeted them on their return for the final year. What was now known as The Upper Sixth Dormitory was much bigger and students had their own curtained-off area. In one corner there was even a fire, surrounded by several chairs -- their own little common room. Harry was eternally grateful that the five of them had hit it off from the beginning. The thought of sharing with someone he hated for the last six years didn't bear thinking about. He stretched his legs out toward the fire and wondered if he could persuade Dobby to get them some crumpets to toast over the flames. Crumpets with loads of melting butter.

Melting butter. An image slowly began to form in his mind of a mouth biting into the hot toasted cake and the butter running down that chin and throat. He could put out a finger and wipe it away and....

"What about Harry though? Fancy picking Malfoy." Seamus was sitting on the floor, a large potions textbook in front of him. "Harry?"

"What?" Harry jumped, coming out of the mental picture with a jolt. "Sorry, I was miles away." He swallowed, shifting in the chair. 

"Malfoy. Fancy picking Malfoy."

"Well. No one had and I just thought I'd save anyone else the bother of having to deal with him." He looked at the faces surrounding him and decided they were not buying this line at all. Was he so transparent that they all knew he was beginning to fancy Malfoy? He froze. Had he really just thought that? Did he want to follow through on the thought right here, right now?

It wasn't that he _actually_ fancied Malfoy. Well, not like he fancied Cho, or even Hermione at one time for that matter. This was Malfoy, for God's sake, and, besides, he didn't fancy boys. After all, he'd spent nearly seven years of his life living in very close proximity with the four people sitting with him now; surely if he had any feelings for members of his own sex he would have had some inkling in all that time.

But then, he'd never had fantasies about any of them, had he? He didn't daydream about undressing Ron, or covering Neville with butter, or... What, he considered, if that was why his relationships with girls never lasted? But this is Malfoy, he debated again, not just anyone.

_This is the person you have spent six years fighting and arguing with. This is the person who makes you so mad you want to pin him to the ground and wring his rotten neck. This is the person who stood in front of you in the Great Hall a week ago and smiled and called you 'Harry'. _

He felt a strange warm gooey feeling slip through his mind and he was back there again, grabbing at those robes and picturing that surprised expression on Draco's face.

"Harry? Harry, are you okay?"

"What?"

"You keep drifting."

"Oh. Sorry. I'm just tired. Umm." He cleared his throat and managed to produce a coherent sentence. "At least I didn't pick Pansy." Harry managed to turn the conversation away from him. "Neville, maybe you should ask her to the Valentine Ball." Three sets of eyes turned from looking at him to Neville, and Harry was finally able to heave a quiet sigh of relief.

"She was quite nice today." Neville had a strange far-away look in his eyes.

"You fancy her!" Seamus almost screamed.

"No I don't!"

"Ha! I've seen that look in your eyes before. Last time it was over Hannah Abbott. Then there was Mandy Brocklehurst at the Yule Ball. I think you've been out with more people since September than Harry has in his whole illustrious Hogwarts career."

Harry glared at the Irishman. "At least I didn't pick Goyle. Mind you, I understand he's good at stirring potions -- those big muscular arms of his have to be good for something."

Seamus blanched but managed a shrug. "Call it my good deed for the year. Do you think he can actually write? Or does he sign his name with an 'X'?"

They all joined in the laughter and finally settled back into a companionable silence for a few minutes. Then Ron tapped his bottle of Butterbeer with his Prefects badge. It gave off a pleasant ringing sound. "So, let's bring tonight's meeting of the Gryffindor Dorm Debating Society to order. And tonight's topic is?" He looked around at the four familiar faces. "Well?"

"How about why my astrology charts never seem to match up with what the person is actually like in real life?"

*******************

"Malfoy."

"Potter."

The two boys nodded a curt greeting at each other as they settled down at the desk in the Potions classroom. They had actually argued a few days previous over where they should sit. Draco had wanted to keep the desk he had used since the first day in class. Harry wasn't so possessive about desks, or even chairs for that matter, but he didn't see why Draco should have his own way all the time. So he'd said something stupid about his 'lucky desk' and how he didn't see why he should move.

"Lucky desk, Potter," Draco had sneered. "If that is lucky I dread to think how bad you would be if it was unlucky."

Harry was still surprised at how quickly they had degenerated into shouting at each other. How could he have ever wanted to put melted butter and Malfoy in the same daydream?

Snape had arrived just as they had both risen to their feet and were standing almost nose-to-nose, vindictive comments spewing forth. The rest of the class had been so engrossed in the argument that no one noticed the Professor's entrance and it was only when Snape had forcefully pulled them apart that the foul language came to an abrupt halt.

And that was why they were sitting now at a desk directly in front of Snape's at the front of the class.

Harry busied himself with sorting out his potions equipment. Quills, ink, scales. He pointedly ignored Draco who was doing the same thing.

"So, do you still want to talk?"

The voice was so quiet that Harry almost missed it. His head snapped up and he turned to look at Draco who seemed to be looking pleasantly pleased with himself. Harry was feeling particularly vindictive at that point. He was finding the whole potions experience difficult, he wasn't sleeping well and already the workload from other subjects was beginning to irritate him. Oh, and being so close to this git, he reminded himself, was seriously affecting his concentration. "Sorry? Did you say something?" His own voice dropped to a whisper, but there was a definite edge to it.

"You heard."

"I didn't think we were talking."

"We can hardly go through the next 12 weeks in complete silence, and I have no intention of failing this exam because you can't cope. And besides, you were the one who kept demanding we talk, remember?" Draco suddenly reached across the desk and picked up Harry's set of scales. "Are these what you've been using?"

Harry snatched them back. Why couldn't Draco keep to one subject? "Yes, I want to discuss that. And yes, these are my scales and yes I am using them. They are fine, even if they aren't as pretentious as your set." He wiggled a finger in the general direction of Draco's scales, which looked gold-plated or something similar.

"At least mine are accurate. So this talk..."

"Stop changing the subject. And are you saying mine aren't?"

"Well, you know the saying, a bad workman always blames his tools. And it would explain why you are so piss-poor at potions wouldn't it. There's a Hogsmeade day on the 24th."

"What are you talking about?" Harry found his voice rise with each word. Fortunately he had started at a very quiet whisper, so by the time he had finished it wasn't exactly shouting. Unfortunately by he time he had finished Snape was standing in front of the desk. Harry sank back into his chair, his eyes fixed firmly on the scales before him. Around him the room fell silent.

Snape stared at the Gryffindor for several minutes before starting to hand out the notes they had produced the previous day. Comments ranged from "Reasonable" to "If you drink that you will probably turn green" and "I suggest you don't let any of this near your clothes, it will eat away anything not made of lead".

When he reached the front of the class, he again fixed Harry with a hard stare. "All your own work, Mr Potter?"

Harry looked up, hair falling away from his face as he did so. "Yes, sir."

Snape dropped the parchment and it sailed down to the desk's surface. "I suggest you tie your hair back before you start. We wouldn't want it getting in the way would we? Perhaps Miss Patil would lend you one of her ribbons. Or you could do something useful like getting it cut." He spun on his heel and crossed to his desk. No one moved. "Well, get on with it then."

During the exchange Draco watched Harry. It wasn't an unusual thing for him to do. In fact whenever Snape turned his vitriolic temper onto the Gryffindor he watched. The very first lesson, when Snape had called Harry a 'celebrity', he had watched him, and so it was no different now. Except, of course, he noticed other things. Such as just how long Harry's hair had become. Not that Draco minded; he liked it longer. But perhaps Harry could do with some lessons in style. And he should get himself a new school shirt as well; the collar on the one he had on today was a little frayed along the edge. Did he have a rash from shaving? Draco found himself peering closer, then sharply turning away as Snape shouted, "Well, get on with it then."

He jumped as something clattered noisily to the floor and suddenly realised that everyone had moved into action. Collecting ingredients. Putting cauldrons on to boil. Chopping and cutting. Occasionally a voice would be raised in disagreement, but on the whole the class was quiet.

Harry was acutely aware of two things. First, that Snape seemed to be watching him and second, that Draco was staring into space. He saw the boy jump at a sudden noise and look around, a startled expression on his face. "I'm going to the store room to get the other things." Harry stalked off to the back of the classroom.

Inside Harry looked at the impressive collection of bottles, bags and tins, each filled with items he had never heard of before coming to Hogwarts. Who would have thought, he pondered idly, that I would be standing here now, surrounded by eye of newt and blood of horned toad. He picked up a bag of dried rosemary and let some of the herb run through his fingers. The smell floated up and he breathed it in deeply, letting it clear his head.

Draco had asked him if he wanted to talk. Now, three weeks on from the events of New Year, Harry was no longer sure. His thoughts in the dorm had startled him a little, and to be honest, they scared him. He wished now he had chosen someone else for the potions assignments; working with Draco was not going to be easy even without this extra dimension to his feelings.

And then there was the strange conversation in the Great Hall. Why had Draco taken the time to warn him that he could be in danger? How would he know that was the case?

Then it struck Harry. Of course Draco would know. Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater after all, and why wouldn't his son be aware of what Voldemort was planning? But why tell him, unless...

The touch of a hand on his shoulder made Harry physically jump, his heart suddenly racing. He spun round. "Ron!"

It wasn't Ron. Draco just looked at him for a long moment, and then finally spoke. "I can get him if you want."

Harry tried to slow both his breathing and his heartbeat. "You could have given me a heart attack," he hissed.

Draco shrugged. "I'll try harder next time." He rubbed the hand that had touched Harry's shoulder absently along his thigh. It felt as if it were burning from the touch, which he knew was stupid. He recognized the sensation; it was from the magical energy coming from Harry. It felt... so different from anything he had experienced. It was the complete opposite of his own energy, yet it was that very opposition that he felt a deep connection with. In that instant Draco realized he could _not _turn this person over to his father. At least not without a better reason than the one he currently had.

"Thanks." Harry responded sarcastically and spun away, searching through the bags of herbs. "What else do we need?"

"Harry."

"I've got the rosemary, but I can't find that other thing -- the myrrh."

"We need the resin. It's on the shelf over there." He pointed over into a corner.

"Why is it you have to be right about everything?" Harry could feel himself getting cross. What made it worse was that the reason for being cross was being here, in this room with Draco. Even with all the other smells from the potion ingredients, he was sure he could make out that cinnamon and clove scent that he now couldn't fail but associate with Draco.

"Sorry. I was just trying to help."

Sorry? Harry turned back. Did Draco actually apologise? "We should get back."

Draco reached out again and touched his arm. "I'm serious about talking if that's what you want. But I won't ask again. It's up to you now. Just remember the Hogsmeade day" He gently ran a hand down Harry's arm.

For a moment, Harry thought he could feel the heat of that hand through his robes, his jumper, his shirt, and his skin. He gasped and met the grey gaze, seeing again that hint of blue in the depths. "What is it you want, Draco?"

He let his fingers linger for a moment at Harry's elbow. "Isn't that obvious?" And he turned away, leaving the Gryffindor staring at the retreating back.

Back at the desk, Draco quickly sat and reached for a knife. It was then he realised that his hand was trembling. He clenched the hand into a fist and then slowly released it. By the time the hand was straight, the trembling had ceased. He berated himself yet again for his weakness. What he really wanted to do was bang his head on the desk, shouting 'stupid' with each knock. 'Isn't that obvious.' Did he really say that? Could he have said anything more asinine? 

What had he said that New Year's morning? He had told himself any friendship with Harry was out of the question. It was too dangerous for one thing. What he had told Harry in the Great Hall was true. Harry was in danger, more so then he would probably realise.

The coin in his pocket suddenly seemed very heavy, as if its weight were the weight of the whole world on his shoulders. He had spent many hours since receiving his father's letter debating whether he could carry out his father's instructions. If only Lucius had sent it months ago; then it would have been so easy to trick Harry into accepting the coin. He had only just to remember how much they had hated each other's company to know that. He would have waved him off with a big cheery smile.

And yet, his inner demon argued, would it really have been that easy? Would you really be prepared to send someone to their death? Are you really the sort of person who could kill someone else?

His whole life had been mapped out for him. He had never doubted anything his father had told him, never expected his life to be anything but following a path that would lead him to taking his place as a Death Eater. It was what his father wanted, what Lord Voldemort wanted, what everyone seemed to expect.

What would happen to him if he went against those wishes? What would his father say if he refused to pledge himself to the Dark Lord? Refused to subject himself to being Dark Marked? The truth was he had never contemplated the idea of refusing before and it would be a lie to say the idea didn't scare him. But he now know he didn't want to be the sort of person who could kill someone on a whim, or just because it was expected of him. He knew he couldn't give Harry to Voldemort.

Yet if he refused to comply with his father's wishes, the consequences could be dire; anything from a severe physical punishment to death. He had seen what happened to Death Eaters who disobeyed their Master.

And knowing all this, he had still made a play for Harry.

Then it happened. Harry came striding out of the storeroom and all but pounced on him. "What the bloody hell do you mean by that?"

At least, Draco reasoned, Harry had the sense not to shout at the top of his lungs. He turned slowly to look at his study partner, ready to make a suitable retort. It died on his lips as he took in the image beside him. Green eyes danced dangerously and there was a flush to Harry face, which dipped down his neck and disappeared into his shirt collar. Draco blinked in surprise, his eyes travelling up and down the slim body beside him. _Fuck me! Harry's turned on. _The words echoed though his mind.

With a face placid in its calmness and a voice as sweet as honey, Draco finally answered. "You've forgotten the myrrh."

********************

The Gryffindor common room was empty. Most people were already in bed, but Harry found he couldn't sleep. Rather than disturb his friends, he had left the dorm in favour of the quiet common room. He sat at a table by the window, which overlooked the lake and the forest beyond. Of course, he couldn't see either, but it was nice to visualise them spreading out in all directions.

Spread on the table before him were star charts and astrology texts. He'd never liked Divination, but for some reason he had never gotten round to giving it up in favour of another subject. There were three astrology star wheels drawn out before him. He was getting good at creating them now and it had only taken him a couple of hours to create the two new ones. The first was his chart, lovingly created two years ago. He had decorated it in gold lettering and even illustrated it as though it were some sort of medieval manuscript. He was a Leo, and a large lion stood guard at the corner of the chart. His Ascendant was in Libra, and he added a set of scales. Strange, but as he looked at the drawing now, he realised the scales weren't balanced. A bit like he felt, he decided. Unbalanced and unsure. Confused.

The two new charts Harry had drawn showed no finesse, but he realised that he did have a skill here. Well, if nothing else, he could get a job drawing charts for someone too lazy to create their own. He picked up the first one and looked at it. Across the top he had written _Date of Birth 8th April 1980_. There was no actual name on it however; he wasn't that stupid. This chart was for an Aries, Ascendant in Sagittarius.

This chart was Draco Malfoy's.

It hadn't been hard to find out Draco's date of birth for the chart, the Slytherin had never been shy about celebrating his birthday even though it often fell during the Easter school break. But to finish the chart, Harry had also needed both time and place of birth, and that had taken him the best part of a week to track down. 

The third chart Harry felt a little embarrassed at even considering making. It was a partner profile, comparing the two charts and looking for similarities and differences. Of course, he told himself, this was really a case of 'know thine enemy' as Draco, himself, had said back at New Year. Nothing remotely romantic, nothing...

"Harry."

He looked up from the papers to the familiar voice. "You're finally back, then."

Ron Weasley strolled across the common room and dropped down in a chair opposite his friend. "Yeah, I'm back."

"How was it?"

"Great. Professor Lupin is brilliant. I've learned more in these last months than from nearly all the Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers we've ever had." Ron had missed several months of school after the injuries sustained during the attack on The Burrow and most teachers were happy to give him private tuition when he returned. The only lesson he was still taking extra studies in was DADA. Remus Lupin had returned to teach at the beginning of Harry's Lower Sixth Year and had remained -- the only DADA teacher to last more than one year since Harry had started at Hogwarts. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, nothing. Just practicing some astrology readings." Harry froze as Ron picked up Draco's chart, looking for a name on it.

"Who's this then?"

"No one. It's... one of the exercises in _Unfogging the Future_."

"Interesting chart." Ron placed it back on the table and began running a finger along the spider's web of lines running over it. Ron, Harry reminded himself, was very good at this. "What have you got so far?"

"Nothing, I've only just finished them."

"Them?" He saw the other chart in Harry's hand. "You've done a partnership one. This is you isn't it?"

"I'm just practicing." Why, Harry thought, had he decided this would be a good time to blush?

Ron chuckled. "You've got a secret girlfriend haven't you? And this is her chart." He gleefully waved the sheet of paper.

"No. I told you, I'm just practicing."

"Sure. Well, let's see what you have in store for you." Ron sat back and frowned, eyes flicking over the chart. "She's an Aries. Oh, sorry, didn't mean to embarrass you. 'He' is an Aries with the Moon in Capricorn. Now, that makes him extremely ambitious and he's got real reserves of energy, which is good because he's got loads of goals he wants to achieve. He wants to be a leader and have power over others. This means he's always thoroughly prepared." He looked across at Harry. "How am I doing so far?"

"Oh," Harry nodded, feeling strangely weak. "Just fine."

"He's a solitary person, even when surrounded by people. You need to watch it, Harry, because he can be a bit egotistical and obsessed with petty things. He can also be contradictory -- you know, flashes of impulse and disregard for convention, and then inflexible and cautious. This means people keep their distance so they won't offend him. Now, what else?" Ron ran his finger along another line. "You've made a good job of this."

"Thanks."

"Sagittarius Ascendant with its ruler Jupiter in the ninth house. All signs of a dualistic nature -- you know, situations divided into two sides, either success or failure. He can be very philosophical and more intuitive than rational, but there are stubborn tendencies, which mean he's inclined to go for extremes. And here's the bit you will be interested in. He's going to have an intense and varied romantic life, but you'd better watch it because you are going to find him difficult to understand. Passionate and energetic, but also the opposite. This one will be hard work, Harry."

"Doesn't surprise me," Harry murmured quietly to himself.

"Sun in the Fourth House. Which is energy. It means parental name, family affairs and domestic matters are of the utmost importance in his life. The Sun influences things like honour, pride and fame. Here it's showing that he won't get the success he wants until he is older. And there is a very strong attachment to one of his parents. He wants to be the ruler of his house and has a great sense of privacy.

"Venus in the Seventh -- oh, the planet of 'loovve'." Ron deliberately lengthened the word, a wicked smile on his face, blue eyes twinkling. "Ohhh. You're in luck here. He's going to have a happy marriage with a very attractive, lovely and pleasing person. Does that sound like you? But he's after your money as well as the emotional stuff."

"Tell me you are making all this up?" Harry squeaked, sinking further down in his chair.

"No, it's all here," he gestured at the chart with a flourish. "You drew the chart, I'm just reading it. Venus Ascendant Opposition. He's drawn to refined and sophisticated people, so that's you out of the equation, isn't it. He is well mannered and most people have a good opinion of him. This bit is interesting. He might appear all self-confident and assured, but actually he finds it difficult to stand alone. He doesn't like people seeing his negative qualities or discovering how insecure he really is. Oh, and he's really devious -- docile, and charming on the outside, but conspiring and scheming underneath to make a better life for himself through the people he deals with." Ron threw the sheet of paper theatrically onto the table. "So, who is she then?"

"It's an..."

"I know, an exercise. Let's look at the partnership one."

"No."

"Oh, come on." Ron grabbed at the sheet of paper and again studied it, this time taking much longer. Harry realised suddenly that he was biting a nail and quickly stopped, instead tapping out a quiet symphony on the tabletop. "Gets better and better, my friend. Sun in the Eighth House. Even if this isn't a long-term relationship, there is a feeling of fatedness about it that is going to play a very important role in your lives. Both your own and his inner nature..." He looked across at Harry. "Come on, give me a name. I can't keep calling 'her' 'him'."

"You don't have to carry on reading it."

"Yes I do. If you think I'm going to stop now, you are very much mistaken. Is this why you talked about charts at the debating society last week?"

"No, that was a general question. And besides, it was true. I still don't see how you can get all that from a few lines on a bit of paper."

"Well," Ron shrugged. "I have to be good at something. You go slay the dragons and I will do their birth charts."

Harry nearly choked and quickly reached for a glass of water. "Sorry about that," he croaked. "Where were you?"

"Inner natures. You'll both experience psychological changes through this relationship. Well, we all know you are psychologically unstable anyway. Now about the S-E-X bit. Is this a sexual relationship, Harry? Have you finally done the dirty deed?"

Harry knew he was colouring again. "Have you?" he finally managed to respond.

"Harry Potter -- The Boy Who Hasn't Shagged. Don't worry, we'll get you sorted out before you leave here."

"Shut up and get on with it." Harry slumped back in his chair, arms folded protectively over his chest.

"Okay. Physical sex is going to be unusually important here. You both will see it as an experience transcending ordinary reality. So, more than a quick shag behind the Quidditch broom shed then." Ron suddenly leaned forward, closer to Harry and clearly enjoying the other's discomfort. "You really are embarrassed now, aren't you? If this is an exercise I will go and eat Pigwidgeon."

"With chips probably."

"Sun Conjunct Venus. Another good sign here. This shows a really strong love relationship between you and him, her, it, even if you are only friends. This isn't just about sex, Harry -- whoever this person is, this chart shows love, pure and simple -- an attraction so powerful it could bring together people who are incompatible under normal circumstances." He looked up and grinned. "Maybe there's hope for you and Malfoy after all."

Thank god, Harry thought, I am sitting in shadow. At least Ron can't see me going bright red.

"But you do need to be cautious here. If there is a lot of conflict in the relationship, this strong sense of love between the two of you could easily turn to hatred. The Moon in the Third shows this is a relationship based on feelings. When you are together, what you think is really influenced by your emotions and you'll communicate primarily through feelings rather than intellect. So, it _IS_ all about the quick shag behind the shed and then not bothering to talk about it afterwards."

"Do you really have to bring everything down to the lowest common denominator?"

"That is what I am here for. You shouldn't worry if it's difficult to discuss things rationally and objectively, that is not going to work here. But what you will want to talk about is your collective feelings. Now, is there anything else?" He cast a practiced eye over the chart. "Last thing -- Venus in the Eighth. There is a real emotional intensity about love here. It has a powerful quality, which can end up transforming you both in a fundamental way. This love isn't going to be light and fluffy."

Ron suddenly looked up with a very intense look in his blue eyes as if he had suddenly had some form of revelation. "This is real serious stuff, Harry. If you do get together with this person, it is not going to be a behind the broom shed fling. There is deep, deep connection here even if the relationship doesn't last and it is going to affect both of you at all levels of the mind, body, and spirit." 

********************

It was dark with the curtains drawn around the bed. Normally Harry didn't like the dark, but tonight he was pleased to hide in it. It saved him from having to see. Saved him from having to look at himself. He lay very quietly staring at a ceiling he couldn't see and listening to the sounds around him. There weren't so many sounds now that the five Gryffindors had their own areas, but occasionally he could hear a familiar snore or the odd noise of someone talking in their sleep. He could hear the sound of the wind rattling the loose window and the soft noises Hedwig sometimes made.

He'd done it again earlier. He'd been so hard after Ron had finished reading the star charts, he didn't know how he had managed to get to his bed without Ron noticing. But then Ron had been so full of his DADA studies he wouldn't have noticed if a gargoyle had fallen from the ceiling and smashed him on the head.

And now he felt guilty. Guilty that it should be images of Draco that caused the sensation.

Guilty for feeling like this about a boy.

He turned on his side and realised he was crying. "Fucking idiot," he muttered quietly, and reached for the edge of a sheet. It was all Ron's fault, all that compatibility stuff. Mind, body, and spirit connections. He didn't believe in astrology, he reminded himself. Wasn't even sure why he'd gone to the trouble of making the charts now.

Oh, it had seemed like a good idea at the time, but the truth was he had expected to find out just how incompatible he and Draco were. That there was no point in even thinking of Draco as a friend let alone anything else. Yet it had been completely the opposite. If Draco had been a girl he would probably be proposing marriage by now. 

He wondered what Draco was doing. Would he be sound asleep and dreaming nice dreams? Or was he lying there thinking about Harry? Would he think the star charts were a good laugh? Did Draco even take Divination? Harry suddenly realised how little he knew about Draco even after all these years. What was his favourite colour? What did he like to eat, drink? Did he read anything besides dark arts books in his spare time?

Was his skin the same pale colour all over? Was he a natural blond? What would he look like naked stretched out over this very bed?

Harry gave another little sob as he realised he was getting hard again.

********************

Across the castle, down the stairs in the Slytherin dungeons, Draco was still awake as well. He was lucky. He had his own room, so no one heard his soft cries as he pictured Harry lying under him. 

********************

**_Harry's Journal -- Friday 30th January 1998 _**

And today's entry is 'sex'! Rather, it was the discussion topic for the Gryffindor Dorm Debating Society last night. Come to think of it, it's nearly always about sex. Even if we don't start with that subject, it eventually leads on to it. Take one of our discussions last week -- it started as a very serious debate on why the _Riddikulus_ spell works on a Boggart.

Then someone (I think it was Neville) asked: "Why wouldn't a spell that turned them into something else work?"

"Such as?" Colin responded.

And things went rapidly downhill from there. The discussion quickly moved into: 'Which girl would you want the Boggart to turn into and why?' I think we went through nearly every female in Hogwarts and then branched out to other more nefarious individuals. 

Last night was much the same. The GDDS consists of the male Upper Sixth Gryffindors plus those from the Lower Sixth, which on a full-house day totals nine. Our dorm is great for this sort of thing now it is so large -- much bigger than it was last year. I guess all the rooms change sizes depending on the number of students. There was a big first year intake last September with 12 Gryffindor boys. They could not have all fitted into the dorm my first year was spent in. 

So sex. Last night it was just the five of us around the fire -- Ron, Dean, Neville, Seamus and me. The Lower Sixth were all busy with Transfiguration homework and I probably wouldn't have asked if they'd been there. After the serious stuff (what should we get Snape as our going-away gift?) talk turned to whom we'd like to take to the Valentine's Ball. Which led on to whom we'd snogged at the Yule Ball and... Well, I expect you get the picture. Of course, I was still thinking about a certain yellow and red ski suit and what it felt like taking it off. It doesn't help that I seemed to fantasise about him almost all the time now. So maybe I voiced a question that I was just asking myself mentally.

Had anyone, I asked, ever kissed another boy?

They looked at me as if I had sprouted horns or a tree or something equally as strange out of the top of my head. Ron actually sniggered, sounding like a six year old talking about 'willies' for the first time. I felt like I had gone bright red, but the lighting in the room was very low and I just hoped they couldn't see me.

"Boys? Why would you want to kiss a boy?" Ron was still sniggering.

That wasn't what I said, I reminded him. It was just a hypothetical question.

No one admitted to it of course, but it led onto a conversation entitled 'gay porn I have seen'. Ron has always considered himself an expert on all things sexual. He does have five brothers, which must count for something I suppose. And if the lurid images he painted had any basis in fact then I think he succeeded in scaring the rest of us out of any boy kissing for the rest of our lives.

I'd seen one porn movie two summers ago. Vernon and Petunia had gone out for the evening. I was in my room studying when Dudley came wandering in. We were both 16 and he was home from Smeltings.

"Busy?" he asked. I looked at him but didn't say anything. "I've got something to show you, Cousin."

I didn't go at first, but in the end I followed him into his bedroom and sat there watching the most ... incredible video I had ever seen. Women. Men. Men and women. Women and women. Men and men. On their own, twos, threes. You ask for it and it was probably there. I won't tell you what Dudley was doing during this sexfest, I'll just leave it to the imagination.

But I digress, back to the yellow and red ski suit.

He sent me a message today. After that conversation in the storeroom when he said he wouldn't ask again, I didn't really know how to approach him. He actually used Hedwig to send it -- I will have to have words with her. The message was simple.

_Hogsmeade trip tomorrow. Will you meet me?_

No name or anything like that. It didn't even look like his writing -- careful printing, none of the perfect script he uses in Potions.

There was no way I could say no. Fortunately I didn't have to worry about making excuses for not going with anyone else. Ron was busy again! And Hermione was going with Seamus. She asked if I wanted to join them. Obviously I turned down the invitation, but it would have been a laugh to say 'yes' and see what their reaction to having me tagging along would be.

So we are meeting at Hagrid's tomorrow afternoon. It should be interesting.

That reminds me. I better just check that Hagrid isn't going to be home.

********************

They were standing on opposite sides of the room.

Harry was by the table, leaning back against it.

Draco was standing by the window, face in shadow, hair haloed by the light.

They had been in the cottage for ten minutes now and neither had spoken a word. At first it had been okay because they were occupied in hanging cloaks, but now the atmosphere could be cut with a knife. Harry had spent his time looking everywhere but at Draco. He felt acutely embarrassed and the 'sensible, adult' discussion he had been running over in his mind had evaporated into the ether.

"So, do you want a drink? Butterbeer, tea?" Harry cringed. What a pointless opening line.

"No."

"Umm. Any problems getting away? I saw you in the village with Crabbe and Goyle."

Draco shrugged. "They aren't the two easiest people to get rid of."

"I've never understood it, you know, why you've always hung about with those two. They've never struck me as your sort."

"And suddenly you're an expert on my friends?" Harry thought he saw anger flash through the shadows on Draco's face. "I've known Vince and Gregory all my life. They are friends of the family."

"I know."

"Oh?"

"I saw them all together once. Your father and Crabbe and Goyle's fathers." Harry shoved his hands in to the pockets of his jeans. "A few years ago."

"Is that what you wanted to talk about? My father?"

"No."

"Good, because I will not discuss my family with you." Draco suddenly turned to the window, his back now to Harry. He was very aware of the coin in his pocket and of how easy it would be to throw it at Harry now. The Seeker in Harry would grab it out of the air without thinking, and he would be transported away. To where, Draco wondered. Back to the Manor? To wherever Voldemort was? He wondered briefly what the Dark Lord had planned for the Gryffindor. But more importantly, he wondered whether he could be a part of this. He turned back. "You keep saying you want to talk. So go ahead and talk, Potter."

Harry fidgeted a little, studying his feet. "Okay. I'd like to know what happened at New Year."

"New Year?"

"Well, yes." He kept his head down, but eyes darted up and studied Draco through the hair of his fringe.

"Simple. I got lost, you saved my life, we did your homework, you got drunk and I put you to bed." Draco gave an exaggerated shrug. 

"And nothing else?"

"What? Do you think I had my wicked way with you? Give me some credit, Potter, I like my partners to at least be conscious and aware of what's going on."

"Well, that's not really..." Harry took a deep breath and finally looked up again. "Some of the things you said. You -- you seem to know so much about me."

Draco smiled slightly. "Everyone knows about you. You're famous, remember."

"No," Harry pushed himself off the table, planting his feet firmly on the ground. "I mean all the personal things. All the school things. It sounded like you had some sort of huge filing system about me."

Not so far from the truth, Draco thought. "I just have a very good memory."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why have you remembered all these things?"

"Because, Harry, the only way to truly defeat an adversary is to know all about them." Draco had matched Harry's stance. "I expect you know things about me as well."

Which, Harry realised, was not the case. Draco was dressed in a dark forest green jumper; a colour Harry had seen him in many times in the past. Was this Draco's favourite colour or was it just something to do with the whole Slytherin thing? And how true was Draco's star chart? As Draco stood there, he did seem so self-confident, so sure of himself, but what was going on behind that shell?

Was Draco lonely and insecure? Did Draco crave understanding and companionship? Or was he seeing things in the Slytherin that he wanted for himself? Belonging, security, empathy, friendship. All things Harry knew he had longed for all his life. But why look for them in this person? Why not find that in someone else -- someone who shared his views and his vision? Draco was an arrogant, self-obsessed bastard, Harry reminded himself. What could he possibly have that Harry wanted?

"And what did you mean in the Potions class when you said, 'Isn't that obvious'. Because it wasn't, believe me."

Draco folded his arms across his chest. He just knew that line would come back to haunt him. And what the hell was he supposed to say now? He did the only thing possible -- he threw it back at Harry. "What do you think it meant?" He took great delight in seeing how awkward Harry suddenly looked.

"I don't know. If I knew I wouldn't be asking, would I?" Harry pushed his hair back out of his eyes. "Stop pissing me about, Draco. If you want to be friends then say so. If you don't, then stop all the arm touching and making eyes at me."

"I beg your pardon?" Draco stepped a pace forward. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You know what I mean. You touched my arm just before you said 'isn't it obvious', and you've been touching it on a regular basis ever since. Every time we're in Potions you do it."

"I do not. And I do not make eyes."

"You're doing it now."

Draco looked away. It was true; he was looking at Harry and at his loose-fitting shirt tucked into the tight jeans. At the way the dark hair twisted round Harry's neck. Maybe he should just say it. Just tell Harry what he was feeling. He started to turn back, ready to speak, but Harry got in first.

"And what was the warning about? All that about protection spells and being careful when I'm not at Hogwarts."

"I..." Things were getting worse, Draco quickly decided. How had this conversation suddenly turned into a discussion of his motives? "You should just be careful. You know there are people who don't like you."

"Do I include you in that list?"

"No." The word was spoken very quietly and Draco dropped onto the window seat. "No, Harry, that doesn't include me."

"Really?" Did Draco sense a note of optimism in Harry's voice? Like a child who had just been promised a favourite toy?

"That doesn't change anything happening when we're with other people. Do you understand that? I will not go explaining this to anyone else. I... I enjoyed talking with you that night. It was -- interesting. But if my father found out..."

"Your father? What if he found out?" Harry had taken several steps forward and had stopped by the fire. He prodded at it with a poker, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. "I know he doesn't like me."

"An understatement." The words came out before Draco could stop them and he swore under his breath. What was it about Harry that made him just want to confess everything?

"Oh?" Harry looked up, the long metal poker still in his hand, its tip glowing red from the flames. "I know he's a Death Eater, Draco. I saw him with Crabbe and Goyle's fathers at the graveyard when Voldemort returned. But I expect you already know that, don't you." 

Draco was surprised by the tone in Harry's voice. There was no anger or recrimination, just a quiet measured voice. But even from across the room he could see the intense look in Harry's eyes. And just how was he supposed to answer that one? He'd spent years denying it to everyone, but here was the one person who really knew the truth. Harry had been there and seen things and Draco knew the whole story. "Are you expecting me to deny it?"

"Is that what you want to do?"

"Okay. My father isn't a Death Eater and he never has been."

"Have you met him?"

Draco licked his lips. What was it with Harry today? Just as Draco thought they had settled on a topic, Harry seemed to want to change it. "Who? Have I met who?"

"Voldemort."

"Of course not." It was an out and out lie. The Dark Lord had been at the estate during the summer break and being introduced to him was one of the most frightening things that had ever happened to him. 

"Liar."

"What is it now, Potter? Have you added mind-reading to all your other talents?" Draco was back on his feet and had stepped away from the window. He was again opposite Harry with the big sofa between them.

"When you lie you don't look at me. You never have. Were you scared of him? I know I was. I still am."

"He wants you dead." It was a simple statement, but Draco knew it would damn him in so many people's eyes. It proved he knew about Voldemort, as good as admitted his father was a Death Eater.

"I know. Later I will have to face him."

His words came out in a tumble as if those four words _he wants you dead_ had opened a floodgate. "No, not later. He wants you dead now. He is waiting for you to be unprotected. That's why you aren't safe here. The spells on this building are useless and you are being watched by at least one of his followers. They knew you were here at New Year." His eyes suddenly became wide. "Fuck, they probably know you are here now, I didn't think." He suddenly crossed to the coat rack and reached for their cloaks. "You need to get back to the school. It is not safe here."

"I've had the protection checked. It's fine -- almost the same as at Hogwarts itself."

Draco was shocked at his own reaction to Harry being in danger. He had come close to panic at that point and was truly amazed at the depth of feeling it had elicited. Keeping his back to the Gryffindor, Draco let his arms drop to his side. "What do you want from me, Harry?"

"The truth."

"You expect me to spill my thoughts out to you just like that?" Draco turned back. "Why should I trust you? How do I know you aren't going to go straight to the Ministry and tell them everything?"

"Because I told them things before and no one believed me. Why should that change?" Harry finally put down the poker and rubbed his hands together thoughtfully. "Because this is between you and me just as it always has been. Draco, tell me the truth. If there were no barriers between us, what would you want?"

Draco thought he was going to pass out. Hadn't he asked himself that same question a month ago in almost those self same words? He swallowed and realised he was leaning against the wall for support. A part of him tried to find the Draco Malfoy of old, the one who he had been before New Year, but that person seemed to have gone, replaced by someone else.

He realised he was scared. For the first time in his life he was on his own. There was no one mapping his life out for him, making choices for him, telling him what to do and say. It was as if he was stood on the edge of a precipice. Behind him was the old world with his father demanding he stepped back from the edge. In front, just floating there like an angel was Harry. If he stepped out and left the past behind, would Harry catch him? Or would he plunge into the abyss?

Suddenly Draco realised he couldn't step back, even if Harry refused to catch him; he had to step off the edge.

The beat of his heart was pounding in his chest with the sudden fear of what he was about to do and say. "I want you." His gaze was on the floor on a knot in the wood about a foot in front of him.

"Draco..."

"Shut up and let me finish." He looked back up, eyes heavy with emotion as they burned into Harry's face. "I want to be with you, but I'm supposed to betray you." He reached into his pocket and took out the coin. "I have been looking for ways to turn you over to him for years. This is a Portkey and I'm supposed to make sure you use it." 

"What?" The other's voice was a hiss of anger.

"What did you expect? For me to say I was going to arrange a picnic?"

"Is that why you asked me to come here?"

"Do you really think I would be telling you this if I planned to transport you from this place?" He tossed the coin in the air and watched it sail across the room to land at Harry's feet.

"It's true then, you have trained in the dark arts."

"Trained? I'm a bloody expert, Harry Potter." Draco was well aware of the sudden bitterness in his voice. "It's what I spend my spare time learning. While you and your friends are playing Snap and worrying about Potions homework I am checking out incantations my father has supplied." He realised he was sliding down the wall to the floor. Aware that Harry was starting towards him. "Don't..." he held up a hand. "Just stay there."

What was he doing? Draco's head went to his knees. He was spilling his soul to the one person who could make sure he ended up in Azkaban. He was betraying his beloved father. He was unloading all the pain left in the wake of his dark arts training. "I have nothing else left to lose, Harry. If you don't pick up that coin, I'm fucked, and if you do I am as well."

"But dark magic?"

"Oh, please. What's wrong with it? It's not the magic that's dark, Harry; it's the intent of the person using it. If I were to lock that door for my own protection would that be dark? No, of course not. But if I locked it to prevent you from leaving then my intent makes it dark."

"That's stupid."

"Really? Then what was your intent when you and all your friends cursed me on the train at the end of our fourth year?" He watched as Harry opened his mouth to answer, but said nothing. "Your intent was dark, it was to hurt, and that makes what you did dark."

"That's just so simplistic. You can't believe that some curses cast by children can be equated to what Voldemort has done."

"No, but it's a start, isn't it? You begin with the simple things, then realise 'hey, that wasn't too bad, maybe next time I'll try something a bit stronger'. Then the next time it's stronger again, and the next time a little more. Before long you've progressed from the simple stuff and are using incantations that call on real darkness, and you see that the thing behind it all is Power. Power to control, to use to get what you want. And that is when it has you tightly in its grip, because then anything becomes possible. Fame, fortunate, immortality, control.

"At that point even the side effects don't bother you any more. You put up with the pain from using it, scar your body to let the blood for the incantations, justify hurting others to get what you want, because it's like a drug and each fix is better than the last. When you have that, who needs bloody herbology and star charts and defence against the dark arts? You don't want to defend against it because it's giving you what you crave the most in the whole world. Before long you would trade anything to get your fix -- money, your friends, your family, yourself, your soul. And as the darkness eats further and further and further into your very being you forget what it feels like to be human and what it is to _feel _because all there is, is the Power.

"Do you know what it's like to do wandless magic, Harry? Do you know why they say we shouldn't? Well, let me tell you that their reasons are plain bollocks. They stop us because it lets you use raw unadulterated power."

Draco suddenly held out his hand and the coin spun from the floor. It hung lazily in the air for a moment before shattering into dust. Harry jumped back physically.

"Wands are dampeners, Harry. They stop us from letting our magic get out of control. They stop us from doing things like this." Draco pointed his hand at Harry, who was already moving backward, his face a mask of fear.

The wall prevented Harry getting any further. Suddenly he felt a strange sensation on his skin and he looked down to find that the cotton denim shirt he had been wearing had been replaced with a deep red silk shirt.

Draco watched as Harry touched it in wonder. "Of course, you have to be trained to use it. But people like Dumbledore stopped training people at Hogwarts years ago. In fact, outside of a few select organisations the use has almost been forgotten."

"Why are you telling me this?" Harry had slowly begun to walk forward again.

"Because you have a right to know what's being kept from you." 

"You think I want to know this?"

"No, but one day you will because you can't kill him without it. He will swat you like a fly. Like he'll do with me now I've destroyed that Portkey." Draco gave a bitter laugh. "My father won't be very pleased either."

Harry rounded the sofa and squatted down, his back resting against it for support. Draco was only a few feet away. "Would you have given me the coin?"

"Before New Year? Possibly. Now? Do you really need to ask?"

"No, I suppose not. When you said you wanted me, what did you mean?"

"Do I have to spell it out? I have spilled my life out to you here. I have told you enough to get myself Kissed by a Dementor, and you ask what I mean." Draco suddenly held out a hand, palm upwards. "If you don't understand I can't make it any clearer."

Harry looked from the hand to the sadness in the grey eyes. They shone from the liquid coating their surface, tears welling from the depths, but not yet spilling down his face. He gasped in shock as it hit him like a brick. This was Draco offering something. This was Draco baring his soul in a way Harry had never thought possible. What was it Draco had said last time they had been here? "I don't know what you want, Harry, and unless you tell me I don't know if I have it to give you." Harry watched Draco's hand and realised it was reaching out to him.

The hand of friendship, refused so long again, but held out to him now. Held out for Harry to take. One last gesture in the battle that had followed them through their school years. What if he took it? What would it mean to take hold those fingers? He felt almost faint at the idea. It would change everything to take that hand, he realised. It would mean admitting his feelings and finally allowing them to surface. It would mean trusting a person whom two months ago he thought he had hated. It would mean finding a new direction in his life.

It would mean having someone who cared for him.

But was he willing to trust this person? It was all about trust when it came down to it. Could he trust Draco after all that had happened?

Harry took a deep breath, but his own hands remained at his side. He knew. Really knew this was the most important point in his life. 

And he knew what he wanted more than anything.

He reached out and brushed the fingers extended towards him. There was nothing more. No hand clasp, nothing but the electric thrill of the skin-to-skin sensation so brief he wondered whether he had actually felt it. He looked into Draco's face and saw that the mask had slipped from his eyes, and for the first time he saw into the real person.

Gone was the sarcastic, arrogant pretence. In its place he saw fear and longing and need. It was like looking into a mirror and seeing himself, complete with all the angst and doubt that plagued him.

It felt like he had been exhaling since his parents had died and that finally he could start to breathe in again.

It felt like even if he did stop breathing, it wouldn't matter because this person would breathe for him.

Draco let out a sigh which caught in his throat. It sounded like a sob. It sounded like a plea.

And Harry fell forward into the waiting arms.

********************

I wish I could share All the love that's in my heart Remove all the bars that keep us apart And I wish you could know how it is to be me Then you'd see and agree that every man should be free 

(I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel To Be) Free/One -- Lighthouse Family

------------------------------------------------------------

Replicas of Harry's Slytherin T-shirt are available from all good Quidditch supply shops.

This shirt was responsible for the slogan discussion thread on Draco_101! 

**Chapter 3: The Dance.** Exactly what it says in the title! 

**Author's note: **I have been quite taken aback by the response to Chapter 1 of Resolution. I have received so many lovely reviews at FictionAlley, FanFiction.net, Draco_101 and via email. I have tried to respond to as many of them as possible, but not everyone left an email address. Please accept this note as a personal thank you to everyone. Your comments as just so welcome and I have enjoyed reading them all. Thanks.

**Astrology and Draco's birthday: **When I started writing Resolution, I knew that at some point I would need to decide on a date of birth for Draco. The date had to be at the same time as the Easter school holiday (Easter Day in 1998 was 12th April). In the end I decided to use my goddaughter's birthday of 8th April. I also wanted to put some astrology into the story and had intended making it all up. Then I checked out a site (www.astro.com) that did free birth charts and reports. The information used here for both Draco's chart and the partner chart are taken from those reports. They are real and needless to say I was more than a little surprised at how these matched the two boys almost perfectly. For anyone who is interested both the reports and the charts are available at Draco_101. http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Draco_101/files/Resolution_Astrology/ 

**Special thanks**

**To my Betas:** Lynn, Ginzai and Ashleigh and Thursday. **To Alex and Aja** for beta-ing so quickly. **To Plu** for checking my spelling. To everyone on the Guns+Handcuffs forum at FictionAlley Park and at Draco_101 for their support and inspiration. 

**Artwork:** I am very lucky to have had some artwork drawn for Resolution Chapter 1. http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Draco_101/files/Resolution_Artwork/ Please take a moment to check them out:

**Adi's** wonder drawing from the sofa scene from the end of Chapter 1 **Plu's **drawing of Draco running his fingers through Harry's hair and her second drawing is of Harry on his own. **Ash's** drawing of Draco. 

A line from Aja's story "Valentine" inspired Ron's comment of "You go slay the dragons and I will do their birth charts" -- _"Every hero needs a dragon. And like you said--I'm yours." And Harry proceeded to slay him. _ Thanks for the inspiration, Aja.

Any reviews are more than welcome, either here on the Fiction Alley Board (click on review), to me at frances@forever.u-net.com or feel free to post your comments at the following Yahoo group http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Draco_101/ (home of Resolution).


	3. Valentine's Day

Title: Resolution. Chapter 3: Valentine's Day (3/?) 

**Author name:** Frances Potter

**Author email: **frances@forever.u-net.com

**Category:** Slash (Harry/Draco), Humour, Romance, Angst

**Keywords:** Harry, Draco, 7th year, Slash

**Spoilers: **All books

**Rating:** R. Slash. Male/Male relationships. Language. Adult themes. (I don't think this chapter is actually R rated, but I am just being careful.)

**Summary: **res·o·lu·tion, noun -- solving of doubts, problems, questions etc. The Concise Oxford Dictionary

When you've spent six years fighting evil, all you really want is a quiet time. But when your name is Harry Potter the chances of that are very slim. A series of vignettes chronicling Harry's final six months at Hogwarts. Exams, friends, lovers, Quidditch, the war and Draco all conspire to make the year end seem a very long way away. Slash (Harry/Draco)

**Chapter 3: Valentine's Day.** Exactly what the title says. 

**Disclaimer: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Dedication: **This chapter is dedicated to**_ Tine, Ina_** and **_Debbie_**, who I have forced to read and reread endless scenes from this chapter. They have always found a kind word, helped me through the dark times and given me faith in what I am writing. Thanks, girls.

--------------------

Prologue: Words and Letters 

**_Saturday 31st January 1998: Late afternoon, about 6pm-ish ... Hagrid's cottage ... on the floor ... in the lounge...._**

"It's dark outside."

"Mmmm." Draco teased at a lock of hair, pulling it from behind Harry's ear. He had lost track of how long they had been sitting on the floor with Harry against him, the Gryffindor leaning his head on Draco's shoulder. Now it was too dark to check his watch. 

"We should go. I'm supposed to meet Hermione and the others at The Three Broomsticks."

"Oh?" Harry's dark hair was soft under his chin and he didn't really want to move, not just yet anyway. "Or we could stay here. They won't miss you."

The answer came with a soft chuckle. "I expect they will. They might send out a search party."

"Really? Do they know of your little hideaway and should I be worried?" Draco shifted slightly, realising for the first time that the floor he had been sitting on for over an hour was, in fact, quite hard. The body cradled against his side seemed to sense the movement and Harry's arm, which had been slung lazily around Draco, moved away.

"Of course they know, and possibly."

"Hmm?" Draco rested his head against the wall and watched the strange shadows made by the fire. "I take it Granger and Weasley would disapprove of your actually talking to me, let alone anything else."

"They can be very protective." Harry turned his head and Draco found Harry was looking at him. "Are things going to be different now?

"In what way?"

"Between us. Between you and me. The arguments and the fights. They always seemed so real."

"They were. They still are. I told you earlier that this doesn't change what happens away from here. It isn't safe for you to have me as a friend."

"Why?"

"Because it just isn't. There are too many people who think they have a claim on you, Harry. Too many people who want to use you for their own purposes. If those people know that I'm involved with you, it might make things worse."

"Worse for who?"

"For you, of course. Maybe... oh, I don't know. Maybe they might decide it would be a good idea to.... You know people are after you." Draco took a deep breath. "I can only protect you so much. If it looks like we've suddenly become friends, people might get suspicious."

"Is that what this is all about? You think I need protecting?" 

Draco was surprised to feel that Harry was laughing softly to himself. He had expected his remark to be met with either denial or annoyance. He started to speak, but Harry was suddenly still against him.

"I was under the impression," the Gryffindor's voice rumbled through him, "that only person I had to fear was right here."

Just able to make out the face so close to his own, Draco realised he had taken a single shuddering breath. He looked away, desperate to be drawn into those green eyes, but for once, too scared to look. It was all too much to take in. His confession to knowledge of the Dark Arts. His desire for Harry. The sensation of the dark hair against his skin and the pressure of another's body against his own. The fear of what would happen when he told his father what had happened to the Portkey.

This new, almost irrational, need to protect the person he had so wanted to pour scorn on and hurt for nearly seven years.

"Look, I told you about the Portkey."

"I didn't know you could do that."

"Do what?"

"Tune a Portkey to a specific person."

"Mmm. You need something ... something ... that ... belongs...." Draco's eyes suddenly widened in realisation. "You need something that belongs to the person." Of course it would be easy to get hold of an item of clothing from Harry -- to steal a sock when he was at Quidditch practice, for example. He felt Harry stiffen.

"To me? Did you...?"

"No! No, I didn't. I wouldn't...." An arm moved protectively around Harry, pulling him closer again.

"Hey, not so tight. I can't breathe."

"Sorry."

"You don't have to let go completely."

"I thought you wanted to go." The hand moved back to Harry's shoulder, hardly touching this time. Draco waited, hoping that the conversation would move on from the Portkey. He didn't want to discuss this with Harry, at least not until he had considered the consequences. It had to be the person his father had working at Hogwarts who had taken something belonging to Harry, but who?

"Well. Yes, I guess so." Reluctantly, Harry moved away and came to his feet. "Come on." He held out a hand.

Draco took the offered hand and allowed Harry to pull him up. "I was going to suggest that I leave first, but I'm not sure I like the idea of you walking back to the village on your own."

"I don't need protection, Draco." The words were soft but firm. "But we can walk back together."

"But...."

"It's dark, we've both got black cloaks. If you put your hood up to hide all that blond hair no one will notice us. Half the senior school will be wandering around the village. We can go our separate ways when we get there." Harry pulled his cloak around his shoulders, struggling with the clasp.

"Okay. Here, let me help you." Without thinking, as if he had every right to touch Harry, Draco reached for the fastening.

"The catch is stiff. I keep meaning to get it fixed." He raised his chin slightly raised to allow the Slytherin access; Draco could feel Harry watching him as his fingers worked on the clasp. Draco moved a hand inside the folds of the cloak, his knuckles grazing against Harry's chest for a moment before it finally clicked into position.

Draco stepped away, his hand subconsciously smoothing Harry's cloak back into place. "You should get that replaced." The clasp was a simple school design in silver. He had six or seven of them in a drawer back in his room, taken from his school robes and replaced with more individual exotic designs of his own.

"Thank you."

"It's just a broken clasp."

"No, I mean for being so honest earlier. I... didn't expect it. No, don't turn away. Look at me." A hand reached out, fingertips touching Draco's cheek.

"I expect you'll go and tell your Gryffindor friends."

"What?" The frown was clearly visible on Harry's face, now illuminated by the firelight. "Of course I won't! Do you really think I would share this with them?" He looked horrified at the prospect. "Draco, please...."

"Come on, we need to go."

"You do believe me, don't you?"

"Does it matter if I don't?"

"Yes, it does. I told you, this is between you and me. They aren't involved in this. No one else is."

"Hmmm." Draco realised he was clenching his teeth. _That is where you are wrong, Harry, there are more people involved in this than you can ever imagine._

"Will you hold me again for a moment?" Draco looked at Harry, clearly surprised at the request. Finally, he placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "No. Like before." Harry suddenly moved forward, his arms around Draco's waist as he pulled him closer.

"We were on the floor then." The Slytherin held back for a second then allowed his arms to wrap around the shoulders, tucking the dark head beneath his chin. They remained in an unmoving tableau for several minutes before Harry finally pulled away.

"I hadn't realised you'd gotten taller." For the first time Harry acknowledged that he had to look up to meet the other's eyes.

"Yes, now I can ruffle your hair as if you were a Third Year." Draco's long fingers tousled the dark curls.

"Don't! It will be a mess."

"It's always a mess, Harry. Come on, put out the fire, we need to go."

********************

**_Wednesday 4th February 1998 -- Malfoy Manor _**

_Father: _

_I am sorry to have to tell you that the Portkey you sent was destroyed. I have been trying to gain Harry Potter's trust and believed I had succeeded. However, when I tried to give him the coin, he refused to accept it, saying that he would not take a gift from me. He then destroyed it. I don't think he realised what its true purpose was. I am sorry to have let you down again._

_The Slytherin House Quidditch team won against Ravenclaw during the week, 210 points to 50. The last game of the year will be against Gryffindor, just before we break up for the Easter holiday. I have been practising the strategy moves Mr Palmer taught me, and I am very confident we will win the House cup this year. _

_I am sorry to question you on this matter, but is there someone at the school watching me? I ask because I think I am being followed, and I need to know whether it is one of our people or one of our enemies. If it is someone from our side, please tell me who, so I can work with them. -- Draco._

Lucius Malfoy read the short note for a third time, the frown on his face deepening with each read-through. His mouth set into a hard line as he carefully folded the parchment in half before adding it to the growing collection of notes from his son.

********************

**_Saturday 7th February 1998 -- Draco's room _**

_Draco:_

_First, you will NEVER send me a message such as your last one without the appropriate security features. You may have used your own owl and it may have been coming back to the Manor, but it could have been intercepted by anyone. In future you are only to send me messages of a general nature. Anything of greater importance is to be discussed only in person using Fire Talk. Is that understood? I will be arranging for you to receive the appropriate spells so that you can set up a private link to me here at the Manor._

_Second, you let him destroy it? Have I taught you nothing? What foolish magic did you let him perform to enable him to do that? There is a further Portkey with this note. Do not make the same mistake again. I know you are working with Potter in Potions. You are to keep your contact with him until you are in a position to use the Portkey. We do have loyal followers within Hogwarts but it is better that you do not know who they are. They are there for your safety as well, and one of their tasks is to protect you. _

_Congratulations on your win over Ravenclaw. I knew you would be a great captain. Now carry this through and beat Gryffindor. We will then have something else to celebrate when you come home for your birthday. Your mother sends her love._

Draco looked down at the emerald, which sat in the palm of his hand. It was the colour of Harry's eyes when he was angry -- deep green, shot though with flashes of light. About an inch across, it would have been worth a fortune if it were real. His eyes narrowed. Maybe it was a real gem; he wouldn't put it past his father to do that, to try to capture one priceless object with another.

Another Portkey tuned to a specific person. So many people had access to Harry's personal possessions, and any of them could have stolen something for his father to use to produce this object. How could he protect Harry from these people? More importantly, how could Harry be protected from doing stupid things? The Gryffindor was his own worst enemy, always wandering off when he should be at Hogwarts where it was safe.

But was Hogwarts safe anymore?

--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*-- 

**Chapter 3: Valentine's Day**

**_Harry's Journal -- Saturday 14th February 1998 -- Just after midnight! _**

If I never see Dragon's Blood again, it will be too soon.

That stuff is almost impossible to remove, and it smells awful once it starts to dry. The smell reminds me of milk that's gone off after soaking into a carpet no one had bothered to clean properly. Oh, there is another smell to it as well. Dudley left a banana under the seat in Uncle Vernon's car once and there was this strange sickly sweet smell in the car no one could locate. In the end the car was taken to the garage to be checked out and they found this terrible black object hiding under the seat.

Guess who got the blame?

I've scrubbed my hands so much trying to get the blood off my fingers and out from under the nails they are raw. I will kill him if I get the chance to do so. It's all his fault, and I would like to hit him with a very heavy book. Okay, I might have knocked the bottle over in the first place, but he could have stopped it spilling all over the desk. He could have grabbed the bottle before it hit Snape, messing up his precious robes. It didn't need to end up all over the floor either.

So, I ended up with a detention, 25 lost points, a dressing-down from our beloved Potions Master AND I had to go back after dinner to clean the mess up! And what does he get? I'm still not sure he actually got a detention. Oh, he was told to help clear up the mess, but the word 'detention' was not mentioned.

Still, it was nice to spend time with him even if he spent it being a git. In fact, it was almost worth getting the detention -- I hadn't realised how difficult it is to find anywhere at Hogwarts where you can be alone with someone, especially when that person isn't in your own House. I still can't work out where he's coming from or what he really wants. How can he be so wonderful and caring one moment and so obnoxious the next? During that afternoon at Hagrid's cottage, he was so open. So receptive. We sat together on the floor for ages. Most of the time we didn't even speak. It was like....

It felt like I'd come home. Not to a place or anything like that. It's like I'd been waiting my whole life for that moment. Did we hold each other? Yes. Did we do anything else? No. Was I disappointed? Well, not at the time. At the time it seemed so right, so natural to feel his arms round me and for nothing else to happen.

But how do I feel now, a fortnight later? I still don't know. He said something during the detention that stunned me. I guess it was the last thing I'd expected him to say.

"So, do you fancy a quick shag?"

I could've died on the spot, and it still makes me go red just thinking about it. I know he turns me on in the most physical way possible, but that is between you and me. I'm not sure I want him to know that. Over the past six weeks, we've gone from 'I detest you' to 'well, perhaps you're not such a git after all' onto 'I was going to turn you over to Voldemort but now I've changed my mind' and have now reached 'fancy a quick shag?'. Whatever happened to nice friendships that are given time to grow and mature into other things? Still, I suppose we've had six and a half years to get to this point. Wherever this point really is.

And, of course, it all comes down to how much I really fancy him. And what direction that fancy takes me.

This journal is now full of comments like this. I'm going to have to get a new book soon if I carry on like this. Do I want him? What would I do if I could get my hands on him? How would we cope if we were friends? Does he want to be friends? Could we keep it a secret? Would we want to keep it a secret? Would Ron and Hermione understand? What do I really think about the boy-boy stuff? Could I DO the boy-boy stuff? Am I gay?

And the answers are:

Yes. I'd strip him naked. We would learn to. I hope so, or I've really read the signals wrong! Probably not. At first, yes. No and hopefully. It scares me to death. See previous answer. How the hell do I know?

I hope no one ever gets past the spells I've put on this journal. My whole life is in here now, and I'm not sure I want anyone else to know what I'm thinking. But what if he could read selected entries and tell me what he thought about them? Wouldn't that be a good idea? Maybe I could invent some sort of shared journal system where people could have pennames and say what they wanted in it and other people could reply. It could be a sheet of parchment that you can use different spells to show the entries and you could then add your own comments.

I wonder what his penname would be?

********************

"Harry?"

He woke up with a start; the movement made it feel like all the blood had rushed to his head, throbbing in time to his heartbeat. With a gasp of pain, he fumbled for his glasses, which had slipped off. His other hand grabbed automatically as something slithered from his lap; the object evaded capture and ended up on the floor where one of his wayward feet kicked his inkbottle, sending an arch of violet ink across the ancient rug. He watched as the upturned bottle spun around, the ink forming patterns on his clothes as well as the sofa and rug. Finally, he managed to focus on the owner of the voice. "Hermione." The word was almost a whimper as he struggled to push sleep away.

She was wrapped in a powder blue dressing gown, feet shod in matching slippers. "What on earth are you doing down here?" Quickly she crossed from the staircase to the sofa, her face wrinkling in disgust at the mess on the carpet. "Harry!" She picked up the book before the growing puddle of ink could reach it. "Yuck!"

A hand itched at his scar, and he managed to shake his head. "I fell asleep." He shifted slightly; blinking up at Hermione and realised she was now holding his journal.

Hermione waggled the book at Harry. "Do you realise what the time is?"

"Later than I thought," Harry groaned, looking at his watch. Nearly 2am. He tried not to pay too much attention to the journal. "It took hours to clear that mess up."

"Well, you're lucky I'm not going to make you clear this new mess up without magic as well." Waving her wand at the ink on the carpet and furniture, she intoned a cleaning spell, and Harry watched in fascination as the ink somehow leapt from the fabric back into the bottle. Satisfied with her work, she turned to the fire and pointed the wand at it. The embers sprang back into life, and she quickly added a new log before looking at the crumpled body on the sofa. Harry was slouched at such an awkward angle; she wondered whether he was a contortionist. Reaching for his hand, she pulled him into a more comfortable position. "You look awful." A hand brushed the fringe from his eyes.

"So would you be after an evening like I've had," he mumbled. Hermione sat beside him, legs curled under her, and Harry allowed her to draw him into an embrace. He didn't stop her fussing over him; her ministering hands were always soothing. "And it's been a long day. I wanted to write a couple of things before I went to bed, and I guess I just fell asleep down here."

She picked up the journal, which had been left out of the reach of Harry's desperate hands on the far side of the sofa. "Ah, yes, the famous journal." Hefting it for a moment, Hermione studied the worried look that had slowly crept across Harry's face. "So, what is it you spent hours writing in here this time?"

"Just ... things." He wanted to grab for it, but instead sat still, hoping she wouldn't open it, especially as he hadn't put any of the locking spells on it.

"So, you won't mind if I looked then." Harry's whole demeanour changed, and he grabbed for the book. Hermione let go of it almost immediately. "Don't worry, sweetheart, your secrets are safe from me."

Harry quickly tucked the book away, feeling stupid because he knew full well that she wouldn't read it. Well, at least not in front of him. He suddenly frowned. "The _famous_ journal?"

"Of course. Everyone knows about Harry Potter's famous journal. We've all speculated as to what you spend so much time writing about in it."

"Oh." His embarrassment sent little patches of colour along his cheekbones. He decided this was not a discussion he wanted to be dragged into and quickly set about changing the subject. "What are you still doing up anyway?"

She shrugged against him. "I left a book down here and wanted to check up on something."

"You don't need to revise. You know more than the rest of us put together." He knew he should move, but he felt safe in her arms. Safe like he had felt with Draco. What would she think if he told her? But what was there to tell? It wasn't as if anything had happened. It wasn't as if he was 'seeing' Draco -- having a relationship with him. It wasn't even as if he was sure he preferred boys to girls. He'd never even considered the option six weeks before.

Maybe that was why his relationships with females had always seemed doomed to failure. But, he reminded himself for what seemed like the millionth time, he was hardly an expert when it came to relationships, so how could he be so sure about anything? It was only Draco he felt this strange attraction for. Or was it? How many times had his eyes followed a fellow student from the room? Or intently watched a Quidditch match, following the players rather than the actual game? But he'd never wanted to sleep with any of them ... never wanted to undress them and do the things he'd written about in his journal.

Finally, not looking up at her face, he spoke. "Hermione..."

"Umm?"

He realised that she was absently playing with his hair. "Hermione, what would you say if I said I thought I might be gay?" 

********************

The dressing on his hand was a little bloody and he pulled it off carefully. Holding his right hand up to the light, Draco studied the inch-long vertical cut across the ball of his hand just below the thumb. It didn't look deep, but there was clear liquid oozing from it. He prodded at the wound, wrinkling his nose as the action caused fresh blood to flow. The hand was quickly put under the water running into the small washbasin in his room, and he watched as the blood washed away, spirals of red disappearing down the drain.

He'd cut his hand on broken glass earlier while serving detention with Harry. Rather, Harry was serving detention, Draco reminded himself; he had just been ordered to help, so at least his father wouldn't receive another message informing him of yet another misdemeanour.

Of course, he could heal a wound like this without any trouble but he was loath to do so. Someone, Dumbledore for example, would pick up the magic he had used, and it was safer to wait until the morning when Madam Pomfrey could deal with it.

Carefully drying his hand, Draco put on a clean dressing. Satisfied with his work, he pulled on a soft fine cotton robe and padded across the room in his bare feet to the small fireplace. The robe matched the black pyjama bottoms he wore and he loved the feel of both garments against his skin. The fire had burned down to just embers now, but he chose not to add any more wood to the glowing grate. Instead, he dropped down into a chair and stretched his legs out in front of him.

He was lucky to have a room of his own. When he had found this unused room the previous June, he had gone to Snape to ask for permission to use it. At first the Potions Master had refused, going on about setting precedents for future years. But Draco had been quite forceful about how his fellow dorm mates prevented him from studying. Then, of course, his father had joined in the discourse, and in the end, Draco became the first non-prefect in several hundred years to be given his own room.

Of course, it wasn't much of a room, but it was large enough for him to secretly conduct his Dark Arts study and give him the peace and quiet he craved. It was also one of the few dungeon rooms to have a window. Set up high in the wall, he had to stand on a chair to look out, but it did allow him to have natural light in the room and helped with the slight claustrophobia the Slytherin dungeons had given him.

Draco let out a long slow sigh as he watched the embers. It was gone midnight now, but he wasn't tired. He didn't feel like studying either, which in itself was strange, because his mind was drifting back to the three hours he had just spent with Harry in the Potions classroom.

Leaning back against the chair, he closed his eyes and the image that played against his eyelids was that of Harry, the expression on the Gryffindor's face of startled shock in response to Draco's question of, "So, do you fancy a quick shag?" They had been sitting on the floor in the Potions classroom, with Harry in the 'V' of Draco's out-stretched legs. He remembered how the weight of Harry's legs had felt as they crossed his own, draping around his body. Harry had been holding his hand, cleaning the wound when Draco had asked the question, and the response had been exactly what he had expected. The green eyes became wide behind the glasses, the mouth opened slightly and a flush of colour rapidly spread across those exquisite cheekbones.

A smile slowly spread across the otherwise serene face of the Slytherin at the memory. He wondered what he would have done if Harry had responded with "Okay, let's do it." But he knew that wouldn't happen. Harry needed to be seduced, cajoled and shown it was safe for him to let go. The sense of innocence that surrounded the Gryffindor was one of the things that endeared him to Draco. He loved how Harry would blush at his comments and how he would become almost coy despite the fact it was clear he was turned on by what had been said. 

Draco's hands lowered into his lap and with a sigh, he slid down in the chair, legs parting slightly.

What would Harry think if Draco was to turn up in his room right now? It wouldn't be hard to add the Gryffindor Common Room to the little private Floo network he had created over the last few years. Carefully hidden beneath layers of spells, he had used it on a few occasions, but its real value was as an emergency means of getting around the school rather than for day-to-day use. He still enjoyed sneaking around the corridors on his nocturnal strolls, attempting to stay out of sight of Filch, his wretched cat and any teachers on their rounds. And, of course, he reminded himself, Harry Potter.

Not for the first time, Draco wondered if he was reading the situation correctly. He wanted Harry. _Needed_ to possess him in a physical way that sometimes made him hard just thinking about it. He had known that two weeks ago. Hell, he reminded himself, he was sure he had realised it back at New Year. But the fear of being rejected was so strong in him. What if he made a pass, and Harry just laughed in his face? What if all this coyness was nothing but a game for the Gryffindor?

Even if Harry did want the same thing as Draco did, what about the consequences? What if his father found out? What about his Slytherin friends? And Harry's fellow Gryffindors for that matter. The new Portkey glinted from its position on the mantelpiece, a constant reminder of just how close his father was to the situation. Of how others expected Draco to act and react to the situation.

That was why he had stayed as far as possible from Harry since their meeting at Hagrid's cottage. He had reasoned that if he kept his contact to a minimum, then the feelings might just go away. Which, as he had found out earlier, they clearly hadn't. As for Harry's reaction, Draco was sure if he had pushed the situation further, Harry would not have objected. But Draco knew he didn't want to have sex with Harry on the cold floor of the Potions classroom -- a quick fumbling grope on the flagstones with the fear that someone might just come into the room.

For Harry, it had to be special.

And that was why he had spent an hour sending owls off to the appropriate places and why there was a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

A hand slipped past the waistband of his pyjamas into the warmth inside, and he groaned. Sod the consequences; he would worry about his father and everyone else after he'd shagged Harry.

********************

Hermione sat for a moment just looking down at the dark head against her shoulder. She had decided a long time ago that nothing Harry said to her would shock her and for some reason his question didn't shock her either. It wasn't that she had expected such a statement from him, more that it didn't surprise her that his sexuality might be called into question at some point. And it was at moments like these she was grateful for the fact that a) she was almost a year older than Harry and b) her parents had given her an egalitarian and open-minded upbringing. If Harry had posed the same question to some of his other classmates, she cringed to think of what their responses might be.

She continued to stroke his hair lazily. "I would ask you what makes you think that."

"Umm..." He tensed a little, eyes fixed at some point in the distance.

"I mean do you have any --" She pursed her lips thoughtfully, trying to think of the right words. When she spoke again, her voice was a calming whisper. "Harry, are you having a relationship?"

"Well, not exactly."

"But I take it there is someone."

"Sort of."

"Do you want to tell me who?"

"Not at the moment." He shifted against her again, like a child curling up against his or her mother. "I'm not sure how this happened. Well, actually I know how it happened, I'm just not sure why it did."

"Lots of people do experiment at our age, especially in this sort of environment -- you know, closed off from the outside world. There's nothing wrong in that."

"So you think this might just be ... well ... a fling? And that once I'm over it, everything will be back the way it should be?"

"Heavens, no! I'm just saying it happens. Good god, Harry, I had a 'fling' at the beginning of last year and I bet if people were honest, most would say something similar."

Harry suddenly sat up and met her face for the first time in ages. "You had a... a relationship with...." His hand gesticulated towards the stairs leading to the girls' dormitories.

"Well, sort of." Hermione was sure she was blushing. "And, no, I'm not going to tell you who it was with or even if it was a Gryffindor. I'm just trying to say experimentation isn't a bad thing." Harry's eyes were still wide in disbelief. "And it's not like you've had the most diverse sex life up to now."

_"I have!"_

"Name them." He opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione was already ticking off names. "There was Cho, of course, who you hankered after from afar but never did anything about except to ask her for a dance at her leaving ball. Then there was me, which turned out to be a mistake...."

"Probably because you were experimenting with girls at the time...."

_"Probably_ because we make better friends then lovers."

It had, she remembered, been a disaster. Their short, but unmitigated attempt at being an 'item' at the beginning of their Lower Sixth year had been the subject of great mirth between them ever since. They had spent several days walking around hand-in-hand, which had been nice, then had come 'the kiss'. It was at that moment they both realised that they were destined to forever be platonic with each other. The relief they had both felt had been almost tangible and it had left them closer than ever before.

"Then there was a short fling with that Ravenclaw which made the front page of the Daily Prophet."

"Hmmm, I didn't know she would tell everybody, did I?" He stared into the fire for a moment. "It did wonders for my reputation though. All those things she said we did...."

"And did you?"

"No way! But don't tell anyone. Ron still thinks I'm some kind of stud."

Harry the Stud. Hermione shook her head slightly in disbelief at the notion. "Did you actually..." she gesticulated with her hand. "...you know, with her?" Harry's only response was a shrug. "Oh, okay. Have I missed anyone out?"

Harry looked back at her, his lips a thin line of concentration. "No," he finally whispered. "Apart from a couple of crushes not worth mentioning."

"And is that why you think you might be gay? Because of your lack of success with girls? If that's the only evidence you have, then you might be very mistaken. Being straight doesn't mean you automatically have a wonderful sex life. Look at our beloved Ron."

They looked at each other for a moment, and then both dissolved into laughter.

Wiping a tear of mirth from his eye, Harry finally calmed down enough to continue. "I've just never felt like this about anyone." He frowned. Had he just said that? He knew he'd written similar things in his journal, but to hear himself actually _say_ the words sent a tiny shiver up his spine and made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Was it true? Did expressing it to someone else validate his feelings in a way writing them down could never do? "He ... I ... I want to be with him, to sit with him like we're doing now. He...."

"Harry, you don't have to tell me this, I understand."

_But it's Draco Malfoy,_ a very small and exceptionally rational part of his brain kept repeating.

An image condensed into his mind of the Slytherin. It was not one of the more salacious ones, however; this time it was Draco's face and the look of rapt concentration on it as he had helped Harry with his cloak after events two weeks ago. The way his hair had fallen about his face, casting most of his features into shadow. The way the firelight had sent rivers of gold within the silver of his hair. The way Draco chewed at his lower lip whenever he concentrated.

For the first time he realised it was true. He had never felt like this and he wanted to do something about it. A sigh escaped him as he cleared that hurdle only to face another which seemed even bigger. "But I'm not sure I know what to do next."

"Does he know how you feel?" Mentally Hermione was working her way through all the boys in her year. The list of possibilities was growing steadily smaller.

"I..." He fidgeted slightly, a little uncomfortable at having to assess Draco's feelings for anyone, let alone himself. "I think so, but maybe I'm reading all the signals wrong. Hermione, I don't even know how to tell if a girl fancies me, so how the hell am I supposed to know if a boy does?"

She gave a little laugh, a silvery giggle, and hugged him again, feeling him relax against her. "Harry, you'll know. Just be yourself, because that is who we all care for."

"But what if he's..." Harry paused. What if he's a Slytherin? What if his father wants me dead? What do I do then? "Okay." He suddenly pulled away, sat up straight, and looked at her. "Twice we've spent some time together, and after each time he's ignored me. He's ignoring me now." Except, Harry reminded himself, for the quip in the Potions classroom earlier. Did that count as 'not being ignored'? Or was Malfoy just trying to unsettle him as he'd done since they had first met?

Her eyebrow slowly rose, and a look which might have been disbelief crept across her face as the list narrowed down to just one person. There weren't after all, that many unattached boys in the Upper and Lower Sixth. And it had to be someone she wouldn't approve of or Harry would have told her. But the very idea seemed so preposterous that she quickly pushed it away. No, it couldn't be.... Hermione couldn't even bring herself to voice the idea in her mind. Finally, she managed to muster her best 'Head Girl' expression. "Harry, you've faced down Voldemort on more than one occasion. You have almost single-handedly turned around the fortunes of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Are you telling me you can't go and talk to a boy who you've already spent quality time with? At least I hope it was quality time."

"Some of it was."

"Then go for it, my sweet. If it turns out you are attracted to boys rather than girls, then fine. If, on the other hand, this is just a nice little experiment with your own sexuality, then accept it as such." She reached out and took hold of his hand. "But just be careful, Harry, and make sure you can trust him. Not everyone here at the school and out in the big wide Wizarding world would be happy with you having this sort of relationship. There are bigots everywhere, and I am sure that some of them would like nothing better than to find a way of bringing you down. If he decides to kiss-and-tell, the backlash could be horrifying."

A second image flickered into his mind. This time, it was of the front page of the Daily Prophet, complete with a rather frivolous image to complement the warning Hermione had just given him. The headline read _I was Harry Potter's sex slave,_ and next to it was a photo of Draco Malfoy wearing just his yellow and red ski jacket rather provocatively off his shoulders. The image looked at him with sultry hooded eyes, lips curled in a hint of a smile.

Harry blinked the image away, amazed at how quickly he had managed to produce it and how alluring his mind had made Draco. He decided that likeness would probably come back to haunt him at the most inopportune moments.

********************

**_Breakfast_**

There had never been any set seating arrangements in the Great Hall, but normally students stuck to the same places. As the years passed, Harry had moved further down the Gryffindor table with each Sorting Ceremony. First Year students traditionally took their places closest to the high table where the teachers sat, while Harry and his Upper Sixth friends (and enemies) were almost at the door now, as if they were about to be pushed out into the Big Wide World.

Which, of course, they would be in a little over four months.

But for the moment, everyone was happy to keep to his or her usual place. Which was good, especially on Valentine's morning when the Hall was full of the smell of roses and other flowers laid carefully on individual place settings.

Harry paused beside the huge wooden doors and studied the scene before him. Thousands of red hearts and red roses twisted and spun around the ceiling, twinkling like little stars in the candlelight. Above them, the enchanted sky was a clear blue with a sprinkling of suitably fluffy white clouds.

"Come on, Harry. Your public awaits." Seamus Finnegan grabbed Harry's arm and dragged him toward the Gryffindor table, where a stack of cards already marked the place of The Boy Who Lived. Harry groaned. He had hated Valentine ever since his second year when Gilderoy Lockhart had caused him so much embarrassment. As for Ginny's Singing Valentine, it seemed to have become part of Hogwarts tradition to torment him with the words at some point during the day. "His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad...." The words were now ingrained in his memory, and even though he wasn't a vain person, he liked to think his eyes were green like grass or leaves or anything but a toad! Thank goodness it was a Saturday and he wouldn't have to endure the spectacle of it being sung in classes.

As always, his eyes strayed to the Slytherin table as he entered. Draco was already there, sitting as usual between Crabbe and Goyle. He was busily opening a large pile of cards and making obviously hilarious comments about each one, if the responding laughter was anything to go by. Harry and his group of Gryffindors had made a particularly noisy entrance, but Draco did not look up.

Harry couldn't quite decide whether he actually cared or not. After all, he had put on the red silk shirt Draco had magicked because it looked suitably Valentine-ish, not for any other reason. And the reason he'd not bothered with robes was because it was a Saturday, not because he wanted to show off the shirt or bring attention to the fact that his hair was actually behaving itself, for once. He was not a person who normally 'stomped', but at that moment he decided his footfalls could be described as such.

Dragging out his chair, he sat down and looked at the pile of items that littered his place at the table. Most of the cards would be from First or Second Years, at least that was how it usually went. This year, however, there were two other items on the table.

The first was a small white box. The second was a bouquet of several dark green glossy lance shaped leaves, laid like a fan across his plate. Laid against the green were two creamy white lilies and several smaller yellow flowers, which reminded Harry of little daffodils. The whole arrangement was tied with a very slender piece of bright red ribbon.

"Harry's got flowers!" A hand reached out and grabbed at the bundle. "Is there a card?" Ron quickly began to inspect the flowers, and in the process spoilt the carefully arranged display.

"Ron!" Hermione's voice cut in before Harry had chance to remonstrate at his friend. She snatched the bouquet away and carefully repositioned the flowers. "By all means look, but don't damage the goods." Grinning, she handed them back, almost intact. "And there is a card." She held it up, safely out of the way of Harry's grasping hands. "Wait..."

"Hermione!" Harry's voice suddenly sounded like a whiny child. "Please!"

Seamus suddenly snatched the card out of Hermione's hand, and Dean proceeded to hum out a fanfare as he took the small card from the envelope. He cleared his throat dramatically and began to read, the Irish lilt inflecting each word. "His eyes are as green as emeralds. His hair is as dark as night. I wish he were mine. He's really divine. The hero who conquered...." He looked up at his audience, then back at the card, turning it over to check the back. "That's it. There's nothing else." With a shrug, he handed it back to Hermione. 

She studied it for a moment, her frown thoughtful, then turned her attention to the flowers again. The expression she gave Harry was deep and questioning. "Now, who would send you lilies and narcissi?" She held out the card to Harry, who took it from her outstretched fingers.

He, of course, recognised the writing. It was the same carefully formed letters Draco had used in his note about Hogsmeade two weeks before. He tried to stop the smile that was spreading across his face. For five years Draco had taunted him with Ginny's poem and now here he was plagiarising it for Harry. He suddenly looked up at Hermione, who was still watching him closely. "What did you say the flowers were?"

"Lilies and narcissi." She leaned forward and touched one of the yellow flowers. "These little daffodil things are narcissi."

"So who's the secret admirer then, Harry?" Seamus, who had also been inundated with cards, was luckily distracted from questioning Harry too deeply.

"I have no idea," Harry finally answered, as he desperately tried not to look across at the Slytherin table, but did notice Hermione giving a surreptitious glance in that direction. Had she realised what he had? Green leaves, white and yellow flowers, red ribbon. Slytherin and Gryffindor colours. Lily and Narcissa -- their mothers. What the hell was Draco playing at?

"Well, I can tell you when her birthday is!" Ron's loud and triumphant voice sounded across the table, and Harry's eyes snapped up to meet the piercing blue of Ron's.

"Ron...." Harry's voice was low and menacing.

"April 8th. I caught Harry doing her star charts, and believe me..." Ron reached out a hand and actually ruffled Harry's hair, ruining hours of careful work. Harry pulled away and tried to flatten the now unruly locks. "If you believe in astrology they are destined to be together."

"I told you, I was just doing an exercise."

"Yeah, and my name's Draco Malfoy." Ron shot a look at the Slytherin table.

This time Harry had to look, and he saw that Draco was watching both Ron and himself with an expression of ... was it inquisitiveness? Or annoyance? Had Draco heard Ron proclaiming his birthday? Ron had certainly been talking loud enough.

Harry's head slowly sank to the table, and he wished that a very large hole would appear in the floor and swallow him up. Hell, he wished Voldemort would appear because he could deal with that. At least he could go off and fight the Dark Lord. But this? And he hadn't even started on the cards yet.

In the back of his mind a little voice kept repeating, _Draco gave you flowers, what does that mean?_ The answer came back _How the hell do I know, but you didn't get him anything._ He finally looked across the room and met the blue/grey frost-covered rivers of Draco's eyes. Harry thought Draco winked, but the movement had been so very quick that he could have been mistaken. When Draco looked away, Harry thought he gasped out loud; the loss of that gaze left him momentarily stunned.

With a strangely unsteady hand, Harry reached for a slice of toast. Did Draco's gaze really mean that much to him? He ate automatically, eyes on the flowers as he tried to fathom what they and the previous night's 'do you want a shag' comment really meant. 

"Aren't you going to open it?"

"What?" Harry looked up suddenly, shocked back into reality by Neville's voice.

"Your present." Neville's fingers nudged the small plain box towards him. Neville's eyes were actually fixed on Pansy, with whom something was clearly blossoming. Maybe there was hope for a Slytherin/Gryffindor romance after all.

"Okay." The lid was pulled off unceremoniously and half a dozen pairs of eyes glanced into the interior.

Two small iridescent mother-of-pearl eyes looked up from the face of a little silver dragon. They blinked in the light and Harry thought it seemed to be looking directly at him. Carefully, he reached into the box and as he took hold of the little creature, it made a noise that reminded Harry of the sound Norbert had made after it had hatched. Holding out his other hand, palm upwards, he placed the dragon on it and watched as it stretched its crumpled wings. It reminded him of the model dragon he had picked for the first Triwizard task, but there was something different about this one. It seemed almost alive. He recognised it as a Welsh Green -- the same dragon Fleur Delacour had faced during that first task. The silver scales shimmered in the light as it jumped onto the table and began strutting about. It paused again by Harry's hand and seemed to sniff at him for a moment. Then it turned to face the assembled Gryffindors and let out a loud cry (loud for a three-inch-tall dragon anyway!) and a very satisfactory puff of flame. Those closest to the spectacle jumped in unison, but laughed despite the burn mark left on the wooden tabletop,

"It's adorable!" Ginny, who had finally returned from her short assignation with Derek Edmonds, a rather pleasant Hufflepuff, reached out a finger towards the dragon. It appeared to sniff at the finger before delivering a vicious-looking though actually quite harmless nip. She quickly drew back. "If a little over-protective," she added with a slight smile.

Then the creature took off, circling the table on its little wings. By the time it landed on Harry's shoulder, the commotion from its audience had caught the attention of almost every student and teacher. Necks strained to see what was going on at the far end of the Gryffindor table and those close by left their places to see what all the fuss was about.

"Bloody hell, Harry." Even Ron managed to look impressed. "That must have cost a fortune."

Too shocked to moved, let alone speak, Harry was staring across the room at the other Dragon, the only person in the room who did not seem to be in the slightest bit interested in what was going on.

Hermione surreptitiously followed the look and pursed her lips. Her worst-case scenario looked like it was coming to fruition.

********************

"This is a boys' dorm. You are not supposed to be in here."

"But I am Head Girl and I'm allowed to go anywhere."

Harry turned from his wardrobe toward the bed. On it Hermione and Ginny lay on their fronts, resting on their elbows. Ginny's legs were bent at the knees, her feet waving in the air. In between the two girls, the dragon snoozed quietly, the odd little puff of smoke billowing from its nostrils. It soon become clear that the dragon would be as docile as a sleeping kitten when Harry was around, but heaven help anyone who tried to get too close to Harry in the dragon's presence. It would start to growl quietly at first, the sound getting louder as the person got closer. Surprisingly, however, it did seem to like Hermione. He pointed at Ginny. "She isn't Head Girl."

_"She_ is a prefect." Ginny quickly added. "And I am here because the Head Girl asked me. And we are here to save you from yourself. We are not going to let you turn up at the Valentine Ball wearing school robes."

"I do not need saving." He pulled a robe from the wardrobe, studied it with a critical eye before returning it to the interior. "I am quite capable of finding my own clothes." Hermione gave a snort of derision and he turned back, holding dark blue dress robes. "See, this will be fine."

"You have to be joking, Harry." Hermione sat up, twisting so that her legs hung over the end of Harry's bed. The dragon woke with a start and took off, landing on the top of the wardrobe door, where it studied Harry with the same critical gaze as the two humans. "That must be at least two years old." She watched as he pulled the robes over his jeans and shirt. The sleeves stopped several inches above his wrists. "I am not letting you go to your last Valentine Ball looking like a street urchin."

"I have others." The robe ended up on the floor, and he reached for a forest green set. "You've always liked this."

"But not enough to dance with you if you wear it. Harry, this is your last Valentine Ball, people will be looking at you. Please go to Hogsmeade and get some new dress robes."

He leaned back against the wardrobe. "That's the whole point. I don't want people to look at me. I don't even want to go." He watched as the two girls exchanged what were clearly conspiratorial glances. 

"Of course you do," Ginny added. "And you can't go in those old rags."

"Have you any idea of how expensive the robe shop in Hogsmeade is?"

"And that is a problem because?" Hermione raised an eyebrow. "For goodness sake, Harry, you have the money, go and spend it."

"I don't have a pass."

Hermione held out a slip of parchment. "You do now. And besides, who is going to stop you? You have a permanent pass to that place of Hagrid's anyway."

"I don't have time."

"Rubbish. You have all day. The Feast doesn't start until six. Even you can go shopping in that time. Besides, we are coming with you."

The look of horror on Harry's face made both girls laugh. They expected nothing less from this person. Over the last six years, both had struggled to get him to take some pride in his appearance. It wasn't that he was untidy, or dirty or anything like that. He just had no idea how to dress himself fashionably; or rather he didn't really care. His argument was that because he wore school robes and uniform during classes, why did he need 'posh' clothes? When he wasn't in uniform, he wanted to relax, so again, why did he need 'posh' clothes?

"No. If you want me to get something new, I'm going on my own." 

Hermione put on a shocked expression. "Do you think we can trust him?" A hand went to her mouth in mock horror. "He could return with something in fuchsia pink."

"Or," Ginny mirrored the look. "Even worse ... black!"

"Oh, for goodness sake, get out of here before I throw you out." Harry turned back to the wardrobe, returning the green robes to the rail.

"You'll go?"

"I will go and see what they have, but I don't promise to get anything." He turned to the bed and pulled Hermione to her feet. "Now, leave."

Hermione reached her hands around him and gave a friendly hug. "You know we're talking sense. Please go and get something nice -- for us. Please?"

Ginny scrambled to her feet and picked up the piece of parchment, which Hermione had dropped on the bed. "Don't lose this or you'll get into trouble."

Harry grabbed at the parchment with one hand and all but chased the two girls from the dorm. He stood for a moment in the middle of the room and let out a big sigh. He knew they were right; he hadn't bought any new dress robes for a couple of years, and all he currently owned were now too small. He'd never been a big person, but over the past year he'd grown a good three inches and now stood a stately 5ft 6in, which, he decided, was probably as tall as he would ever be. Ron, in the meantime, never seemed to stop -- at last count he was 6ft. Even Draco had shot past him over the last summer and was probably four inches taller than him now.

But why should he get a new set of robes just for the Valentine Ball? He didn't even have a partner for the Ball, so why bother with new robes?

He dropped down into a chair in front of the fire, stretching his long (yes, they were long in proportion to his height) legs out towards the flames. The dragon fluttered down onto his knee and made itself comfortable, silver wings spread out so they hung down over either side. "And what am I going to do with you?" Harry reached out a finger and touched the creature's back. It arched into the touch for a moment. The silver scales felt real and he wondered yet again whether this really was some sort of toy. It almost seemed real, except of course a real dragon wouldn't be resting on his knee now. How had Draco enchanted it? Had he used Dark magic? He ran a hand over the silk shirt he was currently wearing, another product of Draco's Dark Arts.

It was Draco's admission of Dark Arts training that really concerned Harry. If Draco did know so much about the subject, how could Harry know it wouldn't be used against him and his friends? If Draco was really telling the truth about what Dark magic did to a person, could Draco just stop using it? Could Draco pull himself back from the addictive nature he had spoken of?

Harry took a deep breath and felt another of those life-changing moments, which seemed to be part of his everyday life these days. He could help Draco. Even if Draco wouldn't actually ask, he could find a way to help the Slytherin move away from Dark magic and find a place of safety.

A what? A place of safety? How could Harry keep Draco safe when he couldn't even keep himself safe?

"This is ridiculous," Harry told the dragon. "Let's go and spend some money."

********************

Romano's Robes for All Occasions was situated on Hogsmeade's High Street. The shop had once been called Gladrags, but Madam Alexandra Romano had taken over the shop the previous summer. It was thought the owner was in some way related to Madam Malkin who ran a similar establishment in Diagon Alley, but there was no proof. Some people even speculated that the two women were one and the same person because neither had ever been seen in the same place at the same time.

Harry stood outside the shop for several minutes, supposedly studying the window display. Nothing had a price tag, not even the display of socks. The small money pouch attached to his belt felt heavy, but he couldn't help wondering whether he had enough money with him.

Finally, he pushed open the door. Somewhere in the back of the shop a little bell rang, and Harry walked in. The shop was light and airy, but almost devoid of anything else. There were half a dozen mannequins dotted around the otherwise empty space, each carefully lit to show off the robes they displayed. Other items of clothing were hung artistically around the walls -- a shirt here, a pair of trousers there -- but this was not what Harry had expected. He had assumed he would be able to come into the shop and browse, but there was nothing to browse at.

It didn't help that he appeared to be the only customer.

He was just on the verge of leaving when a woman in periwinkle-coloured robes strode confidently from the back of the shop. Somehow she managed to get between Harry and the door even though all her movements were calm and stately. "Good morning." She clasped her hands in front of her and then excitedly brought a hand to her mouth. "Why, it's Mr Potter! I'm Madam Romano." She held out her hand to Harry. He looked at it for a moment, horrified that the woman should know who he was, before finally giving it a quick shake. 

Harry found himself shifting from foot to foot and wishing he had taken up Hermione's offer to come with him. He hated being recognised. Trying what he hoped was a confident smile, he cleared his throat. "Um, I'm looking for a set of robes, something understated."

"For the ball tonight?" Harry nodded. "Leaving it a little late, aren't we? Still, I am sure we can find something suitable." She gave his arm a motherly pat. "Let me see..." Pulling him back into the centre of the room, she cast a practiced eye over Harry's trim frame. "Not very tall. Hmmm, something understated? Are you sure?"

Harry did his best to nod confidently. "Yes."

"Shame. I've just had the most adorable designs from Bertolli of Venice. He does wonderful things in yellow." She placed a finger under Harry's chin. "Or something to go with your eyes?"

"I was thinking of midnight blue. Plain. Understated." Harry repeated the word, more forcefully this time. "Silver fastenings, perhaps some silver stitching. Matching trousers and a plain white collarless shirt." His voice faded as he suddenly realised he was describing what Draco had worn to the Leaving Ball the previous summer. He was even more shocked to realise just how clear the image was in his mind, even down to the little silver stylised roses on the fastening clasp.

"Very well. Follow me." She turned with a swish of her robes, which she flicked nonchalantly so that they trailed elegantly behind her, and made her way to the rear of the shop. Harry could do nothing but follow.

A doorway led through to three dressing rooms. Two of the rooms had closed doors, and Harry could hear the faint sound of voices issuing from inside them. Madam Romano ushered Harry into a vacant, but rather imposing room. It was lined with wall-to-ceiling mirrors, and dotted about with several comfy chairs. In the middle of the room was a round podium about 12 inches high.

"Now, if you will take off your cloak and shoes, I will arrange for someone to attend to you. Things are rather busy here with all your fellow students leaving things to the last minute. I've got everybody working full tilt altering robes. It's the same every time. Anybody would think these events were sprung on you...." Her voice faded as she left the room

Harry sighed and slowly crossed to a screen positioned on one side of the room. It was decorated with a painting that reminded Harry of the scene from _My Fair Lady_ where Eliza Dolittle was selling flowers in Covent Garden. He smiled a little as it elicited a memory of the week he had spent with the Grangers the previous summer. The time away from the Dursleys, who knew nothing of events at The Burrow, had been like a balm to him and even being forced by Hermione to shop for clothes had been a welcome respite from his thoughts and emotions.

When they had returned to the Granger home after the shopping expedition, Hermione had coerced him into watching the film. He had actually enjoyed it and had quickly pointed out similarities between Hermione and Higgins. What were the lines he would forever equate with her mild obsession at trying to get him to buy clothes? "...Teaching Eliza, moulding Eliza, dressing Eliza..." He smiled -- yes, Professor Hermione Higgins!

Toeing off his trainers, Harry kicked the shoes under a chair and hung his black cloak on a hook behind the screen. "Just you wait 'enery 'iggins, Just you wait!" he quietly sang to himself. "You'll be sorry, but your tears'll be too late!" He fiddled momentarily with his jeans, trying to tuck the wayward shirt back into the waistband. The jeans were finally getting too small, he decided. "You'll be broke and..." He turned, a hand still tucked deeply in the waistband of his jeans. "...I'll have money..." The words died to nothing and Harry froze for several seconds, his suddenly numb mind thinking _He's caught me singing ... he's caught me with my hand down my trousers. _

As nonchalantly as possible, he slowly pulled his hand out, letting it drop to his side. "Malfoy."

Draco's face was a mask of propriety, but the gleam in his eyes was as bright as the sun. "Potter. Come to get something decent for tonight?"

"What are you doing here?" was the only thing Harry could think of saying.

"This is my Saturday job. I need the cash."

"You...?" Harry's voice was incredulous. "You're working here?" 

"Of course not. Malfoys don't work in shops." He stepped further into the room, quietly closing the door behind him. "I was collecting my robes for tonight and Madam Romano told me you were here. She's quite excited about having The Boy Who Lived in her shop. First me, and then you -- isn't it nice to know we give people such pleasure?" A smug self-satisfied grin slowly spread across Draco's face

Harry folded his arms and struck an arrogant pose. Draco was dressed in a black shirt and matching trousers in stark contrast to his pale skin. "Well, I won't be here long."

"Really? Madam Romano can be quite the tyrant. She won't let you leave until she's happy. It's taken me all day just to buy a shirt." Draco crossed to the podium in the middle of the room. "And because she's busy, I've offered to help." He held up a clenched fist. As the fingers opened, a long thin object slithered from his palm. It fell away, dangling from thumb and forefinger. It was a tape measure.

The arrogant pose disintegrated into one of alarm. "I can wait for her," Harry finally said in a very small voice. Draco Malfoy measuring him? He would rather swim naked with the giant squid. "Besides, you don't know what you're doing." Harry was suddenly unsure what to do with his hands.

"I've been fitted so many times I could do this in my sleep." Draco gestured at the podium. "Well?" Harry didn't move. "Scared of a tape measure?"

No, Harry thought, scared of you. Suddenly he was aware that there was a little hole in one of his socks, and he was whisked back to the robe shop in Diagon Alley on his 11th birthday. Back to standing on a footstool next to Draco and feeling both out of place and scruffy in his over-sized Dudley clothes, while the other boy was dressed neat and prim.

Draco still looked neat and prim. In fact, Harry couldn't ever remember seeing him untidy. On the day Harry had thrown mud at the Slytherin out near the Shrieking Shack, Draco had managed to keep his poise. And, he reminded himself, Draco had even looked good in Dudley's cast-offs.

"No, I'm not scared of a tape measure," Harry finally said as he stepped up onto the podium.

"So, what are you going to wear?" Draco nudged at Harry's arm until it was held out from the boy's side. He slid one end of the tape measure into the armpit and then carefully drew the other end down to the wrist, managing to keep fingertip contact with the silk shirt all the way down.

"Umm," Harry cleared his throat as he felt the pressure of Draco's fingers through the silk, causing the hairs on his arm to stand on end. "I thought something -- something that might go with this shirt." Red? Suddenly he wanted to wear red!

"Really?" Draco pulled away and wrote something on the parchment pad he had brought in with him. He loved Harry in the shirt. When the Gryffindor had walked into the Great Hall earlier, Draco had found himself close to swooning, if that were possible. Maybe it was the link through the magic he had used to cast it, but Harry in that shirt....

It had taken Draco days to get over casting magic without a wand that day. Normally he would have prepared himself for its use with rituals and incantations; using it off-the-cuff, so to speak, always drained him. He had questioned his father once about where the power came from, and how it differed from the power used in casting magic with a wand. Lucius sighed and told his son not to concern himself with such thoughts. But Draco still wanted an answer. Did wandless magic sap his own strength and energies? Could it kill him without the correct preparation?

Pushing Harry's arm back to his side, Draco moved behind him and reached a hand up to the nape of Harry's neck. He pushed the dark strands away from the pale flesh and ran a fingertip over the ridges of the spine. The finger followed them up into the hairline and he felt Harry's head raise slightly, the boy holding himself more upright, almost pushing against his fingers.

Holding one end of the tape measure against the skin, Draco ran his other hand down the spine, past where it curved inwards, lost in the slight flare of Harry's hips, and on down past the cleft, finally cupping the jean-clad bottom just long enough to feel the tension under his touch. Letting go almost immediately, Draco's eyes closed as a smile flickered across his face. That felt good, and Harry's reaction was even better. Harry hadn't pulled away. Harry had accepted the touch.

Draco had awoken from a dream the night after he had sent his father the message lying about the Portkey. In the dream, Harry had again rejected him. He remembered clearly the intense feelings it had left him with, and on that day, he had viewed Harry in a new light. Draco had already committed almost everything he had to a relationship with Harry. He had all but opened his soul to the Gryffindor. If Harry rejected him again -- walked out of this room now -- where would it leave him? He took a breath, trying to dispel the thoughts. When he opened his eyes again, he saw the tension in the muscles underneath the clothes, the rigid back and the clenched fists.

"The flowers--" There was a catch in the Gryffindor's voice. "I... umm...."

Harry stared intently at a spot on the wall using it to try and focus away from what was happening. He wanted to walk out right now -- get out of the shop and run back to school. But he also wanted to stay and let Draco continue. There were several pages in his journal now devoted to trying to decide what Draco's motives and expectations might be. He had soon realised that his own views of Draco's motives and expectations could be broken down into two distinct areas: a) Did Draco want to be friends? And b) Did Draco want something more than just friendship? Harry suddenly realised he didn't want to leave at all. What he wanted was for _Draco_ to be up here on the podium while Harry did the measuring.

"Umm. Thank you for the flowers. And for the dragon."

Once again in front, Draco had to look up to meet the green gaze. The podium put Harry several inches above him. That flush Draco found so delightful was creeping back up Harry's throat again, and he could almost taste Harry on his own flesh, could feel where his fingers had trailed down the silk, which had taken on that distinct Harry odour. He took a calming breath and shrugged. "I'm glad you liked them." 

"The flowers...." Harry's voice was quiet. "I understood the significance." He watched as Draco silently raised an eyebrow, those eyes watching him intently. "The dragon was a hit as well, though it burnt a mark on the table that will still be there in years to come. It seems a bit too protective though. I think it wanted to come here with me."

The steady gaze didn't leave Harry's face for several seconds. Harry watched as Draco chewed his lower lip as if contemplating something before finally speaking. "His name is _Draconis."_

Harry tried to bite back a smile. _"Draconis?"_ There was a chuckle in his voice as he spoke. Immediately he regretted it as Draco turned away sharply.

"It might not be very original, but I wasn't very old when I got him."

"I didn't mean...."

When Draco turned back, the previous look had vanished, replaced with the more familiar hard expression that silenced Harry. The moment was lost and Harry knew he would have to ask about the dragon's significance at another time and place.

Draco carried on as if nothing had happened. "What was Weasley on about? He mentioned my birthday." Reaching up to the hollow of Harry's throat, he brushed lightly on the bare skin, feeling Harry's attempts at swallowing, the Adam's apple moving almost spasmodically under his fingers. Again his other hand trailed downwards, this time brushing over the buttons, lightly pressing each one into the taut body beneath. Fingers paused in front of Harry's groin, the tape measure touching denim, but Draco made no move to touch. His hand lingered on the other side of the measure; the slight pressure from a finger pushing the tape home. He became aware of a change in Harry's breathing.

"Well, I -- I was making star charts. For practice. I thought..." Harry could feel the warmth of Draco's hand and it was difficult not to move towards it. His throat suddenly felt very dry. "I thought -- I thought I would try yours."

"You did my birth chart and showed it to Weasley?" Draco moved away, hands on hips. He was trying to work out what his emotions were at that moment. The fact that Harry had been bothered enough to produce his birth chart caused a small hitch in his breathing. The thought that Weasley had seen it produced a completely different set of emotions.

"Ron didn't know it was yours."

"Then why was he shouting about it down in the Great Hall?"

"I -- I put the date on the chart. But I didn't put a name," Harry added quickly as if it might absolve him of blame.

"Do you know how many people have a birthday on the 8th of April?" 

"There must be loads."

"No, not at the moment. There's just one person in school at the moment, and that's me." Draco had stepped closer, mere inches separating them. "Was it accurate? Do I get to see your reading?" 

"I didn't write anything." Harry gave a small embarrassed laugh. "I'm hopeless at it. Ron did the reading."

"He what?" Grey eyes bored into green and Draco thought he saw Harry flinch. He did not want the Weasel to psychoanalyse him, ever! Draco had seen his chart, read it himself and had it interpreted by some of the best astrologers in the Wizarding world. Of course, he didn't agree with all of it, but some things were just a little too close to home for him to want to share with anyone. Some things he wasn't even sure he wanted Harry to know.

"He came into the Common Room just as I finished and picked it up. He's good at reading charts."

"Is he?" Draco folded his arms and looked thoughtfully at Harry, seeing a hesitant worried look flicker across his face. "And?"

Harry didn't meet Draco's gaze. "Nothing."

"You know, Harry, Gryffindors are crap at lying. What else have you done?"

"Well," Harry realised he was squirming. "I did a partnership chart as well."

"You did what? A partnership chart for us? Why, for fuck's sake? What on earth possessed you to do something like that?" Draco paused and moved closer, grey eyes staring hard into Harry's eyes. "Please tell me Weasley didn't see it." Harry opened his mouth as if to argue, but it closed without uttering a word. "He did see it. Thanks, Potter."

Harry gave a shrug. "I don't see what the problem is," he defended. "They were both pretty good. It --" Words faded as he felt a hand on his inner thigh. Eyes wide, he realised Draco had disappeared from his field of vision. He looked down and met Draco's eyes; saw the hard smirking smile in them and had to look away. He felt the hand move up slightly, a finger holding the end of the tape measure against the inseam of his jeans, pressure pushing up. The other fingers wrapped around him, moulding to the flesh underneath. "Whaaatt...?" The touch lingered as he felt Draco's other hand run down the inside of his leg to the ankle. Then the pressure disappeared, and Harry tried hard not to groan. He was aware of a growing pressure in his body. _Please not now, _he quietly intoned, trying to control his body and fill his mind with suitable imagery guaranteed to stop any erection occurring. _Not now..._

Draco straightened, aware of the smirk on his face. His own body was taut like a bowstring under his clothes. He relished the sensation, enjoying the fact that he could control it. Relishing the fact he was also in control of Harry's reactions as well. A little voice in the back of his mind was chortling gleefully. _Did I really just do that? it asked, did I really just manage to touch Harry like that?_

Casually, Draco brushed a speck of lint from his shirt, the look on Harry's face glorious in its indignation. "I'll just go and see if Madam Romano has sorted out anything yet."

"But you haven't finished. There's still my waist and...."

The smirk changed into a real smile. "You can be so naive sometimes, Harry. Madam Romano had your measurements the moment you walked through the door. Oh, and you might want to undress."

"I'm not..." Harry was almost speechless at Draco's audacity. What on earth had he said to Madam Romano? Yet there was something else. Something he couldn't explain. To have someone, even Draco _(especially Draco,_ a little inner voice chimed), pay so much attention to him was an almost unique experience. The only other person to have ever done so was Hermione. Oh, Ron was up there as well, but that was somehow different to this.

"I don't need to undress," Harry finally managed to answer. "I just want robes. Nothing else." His arms had folded protectively across his chest again, new trousers and shirt quickly forgotten. 

"And you intend wearing what underneath? School greys and a white shirt?"

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door. It opened automatically and Madam Romano ushered in two rather harassed looking witches who hung several items on a rack. Amongst them, Harry could make out a distinct splash of yellow.

"Well, Harry. May I call you Harry? Thank you. Here are some things I think you might find interesting. There is a Bertolli couture robe that I do think would suit you. Anything else?" The question was directed at Draco, who replied with a shake of his head. "Then just call if you need anything." She swept from the room, her assistants trailing in her wake as her robes had earlier.

Crossing to the rack, Draco began working through the garments. 

"What are you doing?" Harry finally came down from the pedestal and crossed to the rack. He was sure that his heart was beating just a little faster than normal as he watched Draco's hands running over the fabric.

"Trying to sort out something which will make you look halfway decent." Draco paused, studying a shirt, which he held out against Harry before returning it with a shake of his head.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you care what I wear this evening?"

"Because I think you underestimate yourself. Look at the difference a nice shirt makes." He waved absently at the red shirt he had created.

"I don't need a personal dresser."

"Really?" Draco held out a pair of trousers. "Put these on."

"No."

"You haven't even looked at them."

"They are grey. I have grey school trousers. I don't need more grey."

"That's not grey, it's silver."

"And that's supposed to be better?" Harry was sure the Slytherin was pouting. Well, maybe it wouldn't hurt to play along for the moment. "Okay." He grabbed at the garment and headed for the screen. 

"And take off that shirt." Draco's voice followed him.

Once behind the screen, Harry hung the garment on a hook and studied it with a critical eye. It definitely looked grey to him. Removing his glasses for a second, he squinted at the trousers, tying to see if that made any difference. No, still grey. Putting the glasses back on, he tested the fabric between finger and thumb, and decided that it must be suede or something similar. It felt soft and very pliable. And he noticed there was no trouser fly -- no buttons or zip. Instead, on either side, halfway between where a zip should be and the side seam, the trousers were fastened with a criss-cross of silver cord.

Realising he couldn't put off the inevitable any longer, he pulled down his jeans, grateful that the threatened erection hadn't actually come to pass. It took him a few moments to unthread the silver cord and he shook his head, hoping that he wouldn't ever need to get the wretched things off in a hurry. Then he pulled the new garment on. He had to be careful because they were a snug fit. The waistband sat on his hips and he struggled with the fastening, cursing the fact it took several tries to get it right. When it was done correctly, however, the panel made his abdomen look smooth and flat.

He stared at himself in the mirror for a moment, studying the way the fabric fell over the muscle and clung to his shape. His form was also reflected in a mirror behind him, and he was able to see the rear view as well. Watching that image, he thoughtfully ran his hands up his thighs and across his bottom, pulling the shirt out of the way to look at the figure shown there. In the end, he removed the shirt completely and looked at the way the suede fitted. It was a little rumpled from his boxers, but otherwise it did fit well.

Harry shook his head and turned back to the mirror showing the front view. He studied the image, trying to work out what it was that people saw in him. He had never considered himself good looking -- there were plenty of other boys at Hogwarts who had cornered that market. He didn't even think he had a good physique. Maybe if he was as tall as Draco, it wouldn't be so bad, but even Hermione was taller than he was now. He pushed the hair back from his face and looked at the scar for a moment. Today it seemed to be a vivid red line. It often did that when he was stressed or unhappy. With a shake of his head, the hair fell back into place, hiding the mark and framing the oval face with its prominent cheekbones and a mouth that he had often thought might be just a little too big for the size of his face. His lips looked a little dry, he decided, and he would have to shave before the ball. He ran a hand over his chin and up the jaw line.

What would he look like with different coloured eyes, he wondered. Brown like his father's. Blue like Ron's. Or even grey like Draco's? Maybe people wouldn't stare so much if his eyes were a normal colour. And what if he could get rid of the glasses? He took them off again and looked at the slightly hazy reflection in the mirror. He often thought that his vision without glasses was like looking through a gauzy piece of fabric. It was hazy rather than out of focus or blurred.

He put the glasses back on and studied himself again. What would Draco think of him? Would Draco like the fact his chest was lightly muscled rather than well developed? Would he like the smooth chest and the way the hollow below his ribs curved down to his navel? Harry breathed in, running a hand over the now taut abdomen and wrinkled his nose in distaste at the way he looked. With a sigh, he released his breath and frowned. Would Draco like the tiny thread of hair that went from his navel and disappeared like some pointing arrow into his trousers? And what about his hips? He had overheard Hermione saying that Seamus had sensual hips. He wasn't sure what that meant, but his own flared slightly from his waist. Sometimes he wished the curve wasn't there, that the line from his ribs to his hips was smoother. 

Harry realised that he was chewing at his lip. Quickly, he stopped and stepped out around the screen. "Draco, these trousers...."

Draco turned from the rack and just stared, mouth slightly open. He had never seen Harry shirtless. "Harry...."

"What?"

Slowly, Draco shook his head, shocked at his own reaction, and tried to dispel the urge to touch the bare skin. Finally he dragged his eyes back to Harry's face. "Nothing."

"I can't wear these."

"Oh?" was all Draco could mutter.

"The colour, the style, everything. It just isn't me."

Draco appeared to shrug. It was exactly Harry, he decided. It couldn't be more perfect. "Come back over and I'll show you." He gestured Harry back onto the podium.

Once there, Harry waited, watching as Draco removed a shirt from a hanger. "That's white, Draco," Harry helpfully pointed out, his tone suitably sarcastic.

"There's white, Harry," Draco's voice spoke with a quiet authority. "And there's white." With that, he disappeared behind Harry.

For a moment Draco stood, looking at Harry's back. Seeing for the first time the line of his shoulder blade and the shape of the spine under the skin. He could make out the muscles around the rib cage and resisted the urge to run a finger over them. Instead he blew softly up the length of Harry's spine, a ghosting breath that made the muscles flex slightly, but otherwise Harry didn't move.

Harry felt the breath and let his eyelids drop as he followed its passage up his spine. It was all he could do not to turn around, but instead he remained quite still. Then a hand closed around his wrist, and he felt soft material flowing across his skin, first one arm, and then the other. The cloth rose over his back, settling with the equivalent of a sigh on his shoulders. A hand smoothed the material down his back and fingers trailed round his side. He opened his eyes and found Draco in front of him again.

He watched Draco's expression. The Slytherin's eyes were fixed on the shirt as he pulled it over Harry's chest, before straightening the bottom of the garment into place at the level of the waistband. The silver head suddenly bent slightly, and the face became hidden from view as Draco began fastening the tiny green and silver buttons. 

For once, Harry stood above Draco, seeing the top of that head. Seeing where the fine hair flowed like a waterfall from the crown to curl around his ears and the nape of his neck. He followed Draco's hand as it paused in its actions to brush a strand from his face. The hair fell over the black shirt collar, and Harry watched the material move across the Slytherin's shoulders.

The impulse to touch was finally too much, and Harry raised his right hand and touched the top of Draco's head, fingers flat as though giving a benediction. Draco looked up, straightening again, and Harry's hand moved slightly, cupping the back of the head. The Slytherin's mouth was open slightly as though he was about to say something and Harry could feel the fingertips, which had been working on the buttons, press into his flesh. It would be so easy, Harry mused, to reach down and touch those lips.

Harry's left hand reached out and caressed along Draco's cheek, tracing the contours of his ear. He felt a slight pressure as Draco leaned into the touch, and he moved his other hand from where it rested in the hair to mirror his left. Holding the pale face between his fingers, he noticed the flush of colour across the cheekbones and how the colour pooled in the lips, parted just enough to show perfect white teeth and the very tip of Draco's tongue.

Slowly, entranced by that face, Harry moved closer, feeling the breath against his skin. He paused, unsure or unable to move any further, and it was Draco who closed the millimetres separating them. Harry felt the slight pressure as Draco's lips touched his own and he was sure that he whimpered.

The loud knocking on the door made the two boys spring apart. Draco ended up by the wall and Harry almost fell off the podium in his efforts to move. By the time the door opened, both were staring anywhere but at each other.

Madam Romano stood in the open doorway and smiled at her two customers. "So, have we made up our minds yet?

********************

**_Harry's Dorm -- about 5.45pm _**

For several minutes, the only thing Harry could do was to stare at his reflection in the full-length mirror.

Surely no one, not even Draco, could expect him to turn up to the ball dressed like this?

After the abortive attempt at a kiss (which Harry refused to even think about), he had spent a further hour at the robe shop sorting out his clothes. Draco had sat in the corner the whole time offering words of advice while Madam Romano had finally given Harry exactly what he had originally asked for.

Midnight blue robes. Silver stitching and fastenings. Matching trousers. White collarless shirt.

So why had it been, when he had unpacked a scant 30 minutes ago, he had found none of these items in the robe bag? Oh, there were trousers and there was a shirt, but neither were quite what he had expected. As for robes? He stared at his reflection again. Draco must have switched the robe bags, swapping his very tasteful attire for ... this.

The image in the mirror frowned at him and tapped a thoughtful finger on its chin.

_You could carry it off, you know, _ his reflection mused. 

"Don't be such an arse," Harry responded and flung open the wardrobe. He began rifling through the robes in the hope that something more suitable might suddenly appear.

"Harry, come on. Everyone's waiting."

Harry froze at the sound of Ron's voice, and then grabbed at the first thing that came to hand -- black school robes. "Just a minute." 

The curtain, which separated Harry's bedroom area from the small Upper Sixth dorm Common Room, was pulled back with a flourish and the redhead strode in. Ron was dressed in very impressive black robes trimmed in a vivid red, which for some reason complimented his hair. Beneath the robes, Harry could see that his friend was completely attired in black. It was quite eerie, he decided.

"Um, could you get Hermione to come up here?" he finally asked. 

Ron frowned at his best friend, who had wrapped himself in one of his school robes, holding it tightly about his body. Legs clad in grey suede poked from beneath. "You can't go in that."

"I know." Harry breathed worriedly, wondering how Ron could know what was underneath the robes.

"Come on, quit being an idiot and get ready." Ron turned on his heel, and then turned back. "And what on earth have you done with your hair?"

"I ... I had it cut." Harry squeaked, wanting to grab at the offending coif, but not daring to let go of the robes. Once he had finished in the robe shop, Draco had suggested that he get his hair cut. Despite Ron's comment, it actually did look better. Some of the volume had been removed, and it now curled nicely around his ears and neck. And for the first time he could remember, the fringe lay across his forehead, covering his scar in soft layers. "Please, go and get Hermione."

Ron harrumphed, but did leave this time and Harry sank onto a chair. Then, feeling the tightness of his trousers, he changed his mind and stood. This was turning into an unmitigated disaster. If his own best friend thought that, what would everyone else say? And Ron hadn't even seen the catastrophe under the black robes.

"Harry?"

He spun at the sound of the soft voice. And nearly died. As he caught sight of Hermione, his mouth opened and he thought his chin must have touched the floor. "Hermi...." He tried to say her name, but it faded into nothing as he took in the vision standing before him.

She was dressed in cloth of gold, patterned with flowers picked out in red thread. The tight red boned bodice gave her a shape Harry would not have thought possible. The very full skirt flowed out over her hips, the hem just brushing the floor. He was so used to seeing her in the unisex school robes he had forgotten that underneath there now was a young woman. "You... you look stunning."

She gave a small curtsey. "Why thank you, kind sir." Then, straightening, she folded her arms across her now ample bosom. "Ron tells me you aren't ready. Which I can see is the case. Do you realise the whole of Gryffindor House is waiting in the Common Room?" 

"I can't go."

"Why on earth not? You did buy something?" She gave him a look, which Harry knew meant he was in trouble.

"Well, sort of, but there's been a mix up." He carefully removed the school robe and let it drop to the floor. There was a long silence, and then Hermione shrieked. "I knew it. I just knew it," Harry mumbled as he reached for the clasps on his cloak.

"Harry, no...." Raising a hand at her mouth, Hermione held out the other towards him. "Did you... Did you buy this?"

"Well, not exactly."

"It's ... incredible." Hermione walked the short distance to Harry's side and began to slowly walk around him, her head shaking in disbelief.

Then, stopping in front of him again, she balled her hands on her hips. Well, she quickly decided, it wasn't what one would classify as traditional robes. In fact, Harry wasn't wearing robes at all. Her first thought was that he looked like something from a swashbuckling film. Someone had once called him 'Hero Harry', and she decided that this was the sort of outfit the Gryffindor Hero would wear.

The first thing that caught her eye was the sleeveless fitted tunic. It was made of heavy-looking brocaded green material, which was slashed through in silver. She tried to decide what shade the green was, and in the end decided it was the colour of emeralds and it also matched his eyes, which were very dark at that moment. The two front panels did not meet; instead the four-inch gap was criss-crossed with a silver cord that held the two sides together. The tunic reached from shoulder to a couple of inches below the waistband of his trouser. The lower hem had been dramatically cut at on the diagonal, which ran from the point the cord ended, just above Harry's navel, to his sides

Her eyes returned to the silver cord across Harry's front, beneath which his chest was visible through the opened neckline of the white shirt. The contrast between the green of the tunic, the white of the shirt and Harry's tanned skin was delightful, she decided. The ruffled neckline was shot through in a silver-green sparkle, matching the little lustrous buttons fastening the rest of the shirt.

The cut of the shirt looked fitted, she decided, but the sleeves billowed in soft folds from shoulder to wrist. With a frown, she reached out and touched a sleeve, wondering what the material was. It seemed to be too soft and flowing for silk or linen. Stepping back, she realised the shirt hem was cut to match that of the tunic. The small green buttons ended just above his navel and the material was cut to just reach the waistband of his trousers. As he shuffled from foot to foot, a small area of bare flesh became visible beneath the last button, where a narrow line of hair disappeared into the top of his trousers.

"Turn round," she whispered.

"What?"

"Turn round." Hermione raised a finger and circled it before her. 

Slowly, Harry complied. "Stop!" He froze again, and Hermione realised for the first time that Harry was actually wearing a dark green cloak. It was fixed on the front of his tunic by two small dragon-shaped clasps located at a point on the middle of his collarbones. It draped back over his shoulders, where it dropped in folds of almost sheer material down his back. The scoop of the top of the cloak was low enough to show intricate silver stitching around the shoulders of the tunic. The cloak fell in gathered folds down to his knees. She was reminded of some fairytale prince about to ride off to rescue some maiden from a dragon.

"Okay, turn back."

Harry turned, the cloak flowing as he moved and coming to a soft rustling stop as he faced her again. "Hermione..."

"Shh ... I'm thinking."

That little area of flesh called to her, and she noticed the trousers were silver/grey, complementing the silver in the tunic. The waistband hugged the line of his hips, flat across the front because there was no zip. She marvelled at the criss-cross of silver cord, wondering if was enough to keep the trousers up, but in the end decided they were probably too tight to actually fall down. Then.... 

"Harry! Have you any underwear on?" She sounded like a reproachful mother for a moment.

His face coloured, almost matching the red trim on her dress. "Well, I tried, but it all bunched up and... well...."

"Oh my." The mothering tone was lost, replaced by wistfulness. "Harry, it's.... Words fail me...."

"Do you think I could get away with the robes I wore at the Yule Ball?"

"What?"

"I'll just get this off." He reached for the silver lacing.

"No!" She pulled his hands away. "Harry, it's perfect. It's lovely. I can't believe you managed to buy this in Hogsmeade. How did they get it to fit in time? When we sent you on your own, I expected you to turn up with something basic, not something that would turn you into the most shaggable boy at Hogwarts. Not, I should add, that you haven't always been that. "

"I..." He shrugged. He tried to lie. He wanted to lie, but he had never lied to Hermione in all the years he had known her. "I didn't buy it. You see, there was a mix-up. I had this midnight blue set and the bags got swapped."

"And the person this belongs to," she gestured at him, "just happened to be exactly the same size as you are?"

"Not exactly. I think someone deliberately swapped it."

"Who?"

Harry licked his lips, realising that he could completely blow everything, his friendship with Hermione, his own peace of mind, life in general by admitting where the clothes came from. "Draco Malfoy." 

A strange realisation slowly spread through her as one and one finally made two. Hermione was, after all, a very intelligent person. She mulled over her own response to Harry's chat about relationships in the early hours, the strange Valentine gifts, and, of course, the way she had caught Harry staring at the Slytherin. Hermione stood in silence for a moment, not sure what shocked her more; the fact that she had been right or the fact that Harry actually fancied Malfoy. She crossed her arms and pursed her lips, and when she finally spoke, her voice was very quiet. "And Malfoy is who you were talking about earlier? He is the person you are seeing?"

"Seeing in what sense?"

"You know perfectly well what I mean. He's the person you have been seeing and who is currently ignoring you. Though for the life of me, I don't understand what your definition of 'ignoring' is, considering what has happened today. I wish Seamus would 'ignore' me like that."

"Hermione, this isn't the time or place to discuss this. What am I going to do?"

"About Ferret boy?"

"Don't call him that."

"Oh god, it's serious isn't it? How long has this been going on?" 

The curtain was suddenly flung back. "Are you two...?" Ron's voice left him in a strange strangled gasp. "Bloody hell, Harry, what the fuck do you look like?"

"See." Harry pointed a pleading hand at Hermione. "See, if Ron thinks that..."

"Ron is a philistine. He has no idea of taste."

"He looks like a ponce. And what the hell is he doing in Slytherin colours?"

Hermione and Harry looked at each other in shocked silence for a moment as realisation dawned. It was Hermione who recovered first. She mouthed at Harry; "Malfoy's dressed you in Slytherin colours?" He gave an imperceptible shrug.

Gathering her composure, Hermione finally turned to Ron. "He looks sexy and we girls don't care that you boys have no taste. Now get out, we'll be five minutes." She ushered Ron from the room and turned back to Harry with her 'you are not getting away with this' look. "We haven't got time for this now, everybody's waiting. But we will discuss this further. Understand?" Harry nodded, looking like a child caught doing mischief. "Slytherin colours? Malfoy? What on earth are you thinking about?" He opened his mouth to answer. "No, don't, not now. I might be forced to do something we will both regret."

She walked around him again. "Shoes. You can't wear what you have on. Take them off." Harry obediently toed off the black lace-up shoes and stood in his socks, a hand fiddling with his hair. "And leave your hair alone. You'll spoil it." Hands dropped quickly to his sides. "Did he arrange for the hair as well?"

"I suppose so. He... suggested it."

"Hmm. Malfoy is going to be in so much trouble," she mused as she rummaged in the bottom of his wardrobe. "He's going to be spending every spare moment he has in detention."

"Hermione..."

"Harry, watch it, or you'll be in trouble as well. I bet you have thrown them out."

"What?"

"Those boots you had last winter. The black suede ones. No, here they are." She pulled the black ankle boots out from the jumble of rubbish at the bottom of the wardrobe and quickly cleaned them with a spell.

"I'll look like something from Robin Hood in them, or some sort of elf considering what I'm wearing already."

"No you won't. Now sit down and put them on. You _can_ sit down, I take it?"

Harry shot her a withering look and sat despite the tightness. He quickly pulled the comfortable boots on. They fitted like a glove and, he had to admit, were the most comfortable footwear he had ever owned. He stood up again and allowed Hermione to straighten the tunic.

She stared at him thoughtfully for a moment. "Slytherin colours indeed. One last thing, I think." He started to protest, but she silenced him with a look. Retrieving her wand from somewhere within her gown, she pointed it at Harry, who involuntarily took a step backwards. "It's okay, I'm not going to turn you into anything horrible." She muttered something under her breath and Harry felt a warm sensation around his navel.

He looked down, pulling the shirt and tunic back and stared down at his stomach. "What the..." Spinning on his heel, he turned back to the mirror and stared at his reflection. Around his navel there was now an intricate red and gold tattoo in a design that reminded him of a Celtic knot. He turned back, his eyes menacing. "Hermione!"

Smiling at him sweetly, she tossed her wand into the air and deftly caught it. "Now that will teach you, Harry Potter, to go playing with fire."

***************

Harry didn't quite know how he ended up leading the entire Gryffindor House into the Great Hall, nor how someone had planned it that the rest of the school would already be in their seats when they entered. When he had followed Hermione down to the Common Room, he had expected to see his friends waiting. However everyone from the House had been there clearly waiting for him. It was only then he had learned of 'The Plan'. They wanted him to lead them into the Great Hall in a show of both Gryffindor pride and Hogwarts solidarity. At first he had refused, reminding Hermione he hadn't wanted to go to the Ball in the first place, let alone take part in this little show. But he had finally agreed out of loyalty to his own House. And if he was entirely truthful with himself, he did feel a certain buzz of excitement at the prospect of leading the House in. It was similar to the way he felt just before a Quidditch match, leaving a knot of anticipation in his stomach.

It was also on reaching the Common Room he found out that every Gryffindor girl was dressed in gold and red. Yet more of The Plan. He wondered how they had managed this without any of the boys knowing. Or, he quickly reminded himself, without him knowing -- he hadn't had a chance to check just how much everyone else knew. The senior girls (fifth years and upwards as far as he could tell) were in elegant ball gowns, while the juniors were dressed in more simple robes. The boys hadn't followed the dress code, but everyone had either gold or red as an accent colour on their robes.

Except Harry, of course.

Standing now outside of the Great Hall between Hermione, in her billowing cloth of gold, and Ginny, in an elegant pencil slim red gown, Harry felt just a little out of place. His own green and silver countered the richness of colour, but he was sure he stood out like the proverbial sore thumb amongst all the Gryffindors. If he'd known what they were planning....

"Ready, Harry?" Hermione's voice was soft by his ear as she slid her arm around him.

"Not really."

"Oh, you'll be fine." She kissed his cheek. "We're off to join our partners."

Harry took a breath and subconsciously pushed his glasses back up his nose. As he did, he was aware of both his shirt and the tunic riding up, and he quickly pulled them down again with an aggravated sigh. It wasn't that he was worried about leading his House in. No, he'd faced worse things than that. His problem at that moment was walking into the hall dressed, as Ron had so eloquently put it, like a ponce and knowing that Draco would be watching.

What if he was wrong, and the clothes had nothing to do with the Slytherin? He knew the chances of that were slight. After all, hadn't Draco made him try on the trousers and shirt in the shop? No doubt Madam Romano had been there with her special measuring devices working out any alterations.

He pulled the cloak around his shoulders, wanting to hide behind it as he normally did with his school robes, but someone pulled it back again. He glared at Hermione, who was ushering him forward. Facing the huge doors of the Hall again, he straightened his shoulders, took a deep breath and frantically pulled at the bottom of the tunic in an effort to hide the magical tattoo.

Inside the Great Hall, the subject of Harry's angst stood behind his chair.

Draco Malfoy had strolled into the noisy Hall about five minutes before, planning on being fashionably late and, thus arriving to a full Hall where all heads would turn to watch his entrance. He had envisaged how his cloak of deep burgundy Chinese silk would suitably billow about him as he walked, just showing off the exquisite gold lining and giving the merest hint of what he had underneath. Unfortunately, this didn't happen.

His fellow Slytherins had greeted him, but what held both his gaze and that of the other people in the hall, was the completely empty Gryffindor table. Eyes narrowed slightly as they glanced from the empty table to the three full ones and he wondered what was going on. 

He didn't have long to wait.

As if cued by some strange silent signal, the hall fell quiet as Harry Potter strode into the room. Draco remained standing, hands lightly resting on the back of his chair, the cloak enfolding him completely from shoulder to ankle, as he watched the slim figure stop at the end of the Gryffindor table. A small smile of satisfaction flashed across his face as he took in the almost perfect "come shag me" clothes, and he silently applauded himself for the choice and Harry for actually wearing them. He had expected Harry to refuse. 

The fact that they shouted 'Slytherin' to the whole assembled hall was probably why the silence continued unabated.

For the briefest moment, green eyes flickered in Draco's direction, and he tried to read what the look said. Then the moment was shattered as the rest of the Gryffindor House filed in behind the person they had clearly taken as their leader.

An elegant eyebrow rose as he took in the spectacle of the orchestrated entry into the Hall. As the Gryffindors entered, they broke from their paired partners, the boys moving down one side of the table and the girls the other. The twin rows moved to their places, the seniors at Harry's end of the table while the younger students walked in a stately (and clearly coached) way towards the opposite end. Then, as if on cue, each person sat quietly, the scrape of the chairs on the flagstone clearly silenced by some sort of charm.

Before Harry could sit, a ring of applause grew around the Hall. It started with the Ravenclaw and then the Hufflepuff tables before the Gryffindors joined in. There was even, Draco saw, a spluttering of applause from some of the Slytherins. He saw Harry nod, acknowledging something, and he turned in the direction of the look. Professor Dumbledore had come to his feet and had raised his goblet to Harry.

What, Draco wondered, would his father think if he could see the Hero of the Order of the Phoenix now, clearly crowned by not only his own housemates, but also by the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs? This was, indeed, the biggest display he had ever seen of Harry being acknowledged as some sort of future leader, and no one could have failed to notice that Dumbledore had saluted the Gryffindor as well. 

He noted that Harry looked a little nervous and unsure of the display of adulation. It was something he was used to as Gryffindor Seeker, but clearly not as Just Harry. As Harry finally sat down, the applause died away, replaced by the hubbub of several hundred students all talking at once. Draco realised for the first time that a place had been set at what was clearly meant to represent the Head of the Gryffindor House. Not only that, but the chair was quite clearly not one of the normal chairs.

Draco stood still for a moment, waiting for Harry to look at him again. The emerald eyes met him across the hall and with a graceful movement Draco removed his cloak. He held the gaze, watching as it widened. Then those red lips parted as Harry took in the shimmering gold of Draco's waistcoat against the pale skin of his bare arms. 

***************

By 8pm, the feast was over and the younger students had been sent back to their respective common rooms to carry on with their own little parties, leaving the top four years in the Great Hall. The long tables had been cleared away, replaced by round tables around the edges of the room, and the lighting had been lowered to what Professor McGonagall decided was a 'suitable' level to enhance the party without allowing for any shenanigans.

On the raised platform where the teachers normally sat, a small stage had appeared and The Weird Sisters were now playing their strange blend of Celtic, African and Wizard music to an enthralled audience of 14 to 18 year olds.

Harry hadn't really appreciated the music when he had first heard the group three years before, but now he found the beat compelling. Even as he sat listening, his fingers were tapping along to the music, and the rhythm moved through his body. His dancing technique had improved since the almost disastrous Yule Ball during his fourth year when, as one of the Triwizard champions, he had attempted to dance with Parvati (who was, he had to admit, cutting quite a dash now with Ernie McMillan, an Upper Sixth Hufflepuff).

Even Ron, whose dancing skills had matched Harry's, had returned to school at the beginning of their fifth year with surprisingly nimble feet. Ginny had later told Harry that Molly Weasley had insisted that Ron take lessons from his brothers when she had heard from George and Fred about how badly her baby boy had danced. He was on the dance floor now, almost like a shadow in his black outfit, hands entwined with Mandy Brocklehurst's. Watching Ron now, it was easy to forget that he had sustained such a terrible injury at The Burrow the previous June. Harry wasn't sure how Ron managed some of the steps, but it was almost as if his friend found it easier to dance than walk. Maybe this was a good sign, Harry mused, that Ron was finally getting over the physical damage.

Almost without thinking, Harry's eyes searched the milling crowd for a flash of gold, which was not easy with all the gold-clad Gryffindor girls. But once he had found the silver-haired form of Draco Malfoy, it was not hard to keep track of him. Harry had been initially surprised at the ease of the way the Slytherin moved -- confident, assertive, and fluid, the girls he partnered almost a prop for him to display himself on. The slim hips moved in time to the beat, as though the top half of his body was the controlled Slytherin everyone know, while below was the sensual creature whose touch Harry seemed to have craved for weeks.

He was dancing now with Nancy Radcliff, a pretty Slytherin girl who was so quiet most people didn't know she even existed most of the time. But in Draco's hands, she was so caught up in the beat that people were actually stopping to watch them. What would it feel like, Harry wondered, to dance with him like that? To have those hands guide his steps? Of course he knew it could never happen, not here in the crowded Great Hall, but it didn't hurt to daydream occasionally. 

Ron and Hermione had, as usual, been responsible for Harry's transformation from a klutz to a moderately good dancer. They had showed him how the balance and poise he had on a broom could be transferred to his movements on the ground. He could now waltz and tango reasonably well (and mostly without treading on his partner's toes). Plus, he could dance a pretty mean Wizard's Challenge. The dance was traditionally with a same-sex partner and was originally a contest between the two dancers. It was still danced like that occasionally, but normally the couple would follow set steps. It reminded Harry of American Line Dancing in some ways, but with fast energetic movements. The couples would form up in rows, but in reality the only person they were matching was their partner. Ron had begun teaching Harry the complicated steps before his accident, and it had fallen to Seamus to finish his education. Harry had to admit to being quite pleased with the way he could now dance the steps. 

Of course, in competition it was different. One person, normally the challenger, would be the leader, and the partner would have to match him step for step. Although many were standard moves, the challenger could, in fact, dance anything he wanted. If the partner couldn't keep up, he lost, but if he managed to reach the end of the dance, then the challenger would lose.

Harry had danced it earlier with Christian Silihagen, a student who had transferred from Durmstrang the year after the Triwizard Tournament. He had been sorted into Ravenclaw along with two other students from the school, and now played Beater for the House Quidditch team. In fact, it was one of Christian's well-aimed Bludgers that had almost cost Gryffindor the match last year. It had caught Harry on his left thigh, almost causing him to lose his grip on the broom. The resulting bruise had taken weeks to heal despite the particularly nasty smelling compress Madam Pomfrey had applied to the area.

"Not dancing?" Hermione flopped down onto a chair next to Harry on which his legs had been resting. He quickly got them out of the way before they got tangled into her skirts.

"Sitting this one out. I think I've danced with more people tonight than in all my years at Hogwarts." He leaned closer so that she could hear him over the music. "Have I told you how stunning I think you look yet?"

She leaned back and planted a chaste kiss on his cheek. "On several occasions."

"Good, because I don't want you to think I hadn't noticed."

"What happened to your tunic?"

"Oh, to start with, the cloak kept getting in the way. Then Jennifer got her necklace caught in it. It was a hell of a struggle to get loose without ripping the material or breaking the necklace." 

"Ah, so that's what you were doing with her in the corner. People were taking bets."

"On?"

Hermione smiled. "On whether you would get off with her tonight." 

Harry shot her a scornful look. "And it was just easier to take the tunic off as well."

She shifted closer. "Malfoy is dressed rather interestingly. Gold and red." Her eyes narrowed as she looked at Harry.

"It looks black to me."

"Oh no, it's definitely a very dark red. Lavender has been talking about it all evening._ Isn't it strange how our Harry's got on green and silver and that Slytherin creep has got on gold and red?"_ Hermione managed a passable impersonation of Lavender. _"Do you think they mixed up their clothes? _Followed by one of her insufferable giggles of course."

"Oh."

"Oh indeed. Harry," she suddenly linked her arm around his. "You do know what you are doing, I hope."

"Hermione, I haven't done anything."

"No, of course not."

For a moment, they both watched the now seated Slytherin, who was holding court surrounded by his minions. He was laughing at something, his head tipped back for a moment, and the reflection of the gold coloured the skin of his throat. Then he looked directly at them as if he knew he was being discussed. Harry shifted slightly and then realised he was actually trying to hide in Hermione's shadow. 

Why was there never a suitable corner to hide in, he wondered. Or even a handy cupboard under the stairs?

The eyes bored into him, and it was almost as if Draco could read his thoughts, could feel the hesitancy which was flooding through Harry at that moment. The blond head tilted slightly, and Harry felt like he was being drawn back out of the shadows. He moved a little, coming into the circle of light from the candles on the table and he was sure Draco gave a single nod.

The look was abruptly cut off as noisy Gryffindors joined them at the table, the music fading for a moment. Harry noticed that Hermione was looking thoughtfully at the band. As Ron, Dean and Seamus sat down (Neville had disappeared with Pansy several dances before), she came to her feet, and, lifting the full skirts up a little, she headed towards the stage.

"Was it something we said?" Ron picked up his bottle of Butterbeer and quickly finished it.

"I have absolutely no idea." Harry's response was suddenly overloud as the music changed to a low beat. "But I've seen that look before, and all I can say is, be afraid ... be very afraid!"

The friends snickered together and Harry realised he was actually enjoying the evening after all. If it weren't for the tight trousers, everything would be just fine. Oh, and if the shirt had been long enough to tuck into his trousers, then he would have had no complaints at all. He tugged it down again, trying to cover the tattoo, which had been the source of much hilarity among his friends. 

"Now where's she going?" Seamus had turned in his seat and was watching his girlfriend stride confidently away from the band, her steps reflecting the music. But instead of returning to the Gryffindor tables, she was heading for the Slytherins where she came to a halt in front of Draco Malfoy. "What the fuck...." He started to get to his feet, but Dean's hand restrained him as a member of the band made an announcement, which cut through the general chatter. 

"Now ladies, here's your chance to dance with whomever you want. Remember boys, it's Valentine's Day and if you refuse her, she can legitimately turn you into something nasty for the next two dances." 

Seamus' eyes opened wide. "She bloody isn't!" He scrambled to try and see Malfoy's face.

"She bloody is." Ron was almost in hysterics at the thought of Hermione asking Malfoy to dance. "I hope he refuses, then we can all play 'bounce the ferret'."

The announcement caused a sudden flurry of movement in the Hall, except at the Slytherin table where Hermione stood in front of Draco. At first he continued talking and deliberately ignored her, but as the pace of the music changed, he finally looked up at her.

Hermione looked quite spectacular, he decided. She had done something to her hair, and it was swept back from her face to fall in ringlets. And her eyes looked bigger than normal, huge dark brown pools in a face made pretty by the heightened colour across her cheekbones. There was something clean and wholesome about the face, and he realised that the Gryffindor, unlike the Slytherin girls, wore no makeup.

Typical bloody Gryffindor, he mused, sweet and wholesome.

"Granger." He finally spoke.

With a slight smile she asked him to dance.

Both eyebrows rose on the pale face and he gave a small bitter laugh. "I think I'd rather be something nasty for a couple of dances, thanks very much."

"Scared, Malfoy?" The voice was very quiet as she leaned close to his ear, and he felt the tip of her wand press into the hollow of his throat. He wondered briefly where she had managed to hide the wand in the tight-fitting dress and how it had appeared quite so quickly. 

"You wouldn't dare."

"Have you learned nothing over the last six years?" She pulled back a little, twiddling the wand expertly about her fingers. "And I never joke, particularly when it concerns a certain person."

"Draco, dear, is she bothering you?" Blaise Zabini's soft voice sounded from behind him and he felt her hands slide round his shoulders, fingers pushing under the fabric of his waistcoat. "Come and dance with me instead."

The look of distaste that flicked across Malfoy's face brought an astute smile to Hermione's face. He pulled away from the cloying hands and came to his feet. "No, she --" the word was drawled in a voice which left no one in any doubt about his view of the Gryffindor. "-- asked first. It would be churlish of me to refuse." With that, he stepped out onto the dance floor as the slow beat of the music changed, the tempo picking up slightly.

Hermione held out a hand, but instead of taking it, Draco's right arm slid around her waist, pulling her hips tightly against his own, which were already moving in time to the sound. She let him lead, her feet matching the rhythm set by the Slytherin. 

For a minute or so, she let him twist her around the dance floor, surprised at the strength in his arms and the swiftness of his movements. He would coil around her, always keeping one of his arms around her waist, and for a moment she wondered whom he was dancing for. Himself, Hermione or Harry?

Harry was watching them now as he danced with Ashleigh Zaroda, a lower sixth Ravenclaw. Hermione could see the worried expression on his face and the questioning look in his eyes. Well, let him worry what she was talking to Draco about -- he deserved to be worried. 

"So, are you just enamoured by the idea of dancing with me, or is there some other reason for this desire to be close to me?" Draco was behind her, both hands on her hips, close to her ear as Seamus spun past, giving them both a sneer.

"I'm intrigued to know what your little game is this time."

"Game? I don't play games, Granger."

"Oh?" He was back in front of her now, the single arm pulling her close enough to hear his whispers.

"And are the clothes part of your little campaign?" she continued 

"This?" Draco's hand ran over the front of his waistcoat. "It's just something I had lying around."

"And you decided it would be more appropriate than green and silver?"

"It's Valentine's, Granger. What better colours than red and gold on the day for lovers everywhere? Of course ,I didn't expect your obvious show of Gryffindor solidarity." The back of his hand ran over Hermione's bodice. "As for green and silver, there are other people those colours suit better." His eyes moved deliberately to Harry. "But at least I didn't parade him into the Hall like some little puppet."

Hermione looked shocked. "Is that what you think we did?

The Slytherin gave the slightest shrug. "I'm not Potter's keeper. I leave that to his little friends."

"And dressing him in green and silver isn't parading him, I suppose?"

"He wasn't forced to do anything he didn't want to." Draco twisted her around, ending up behind her again. "Or do you think I have some sort of spell on him?"

She felt him holding her close, pressed against her back. "No." 

"Are you so sure?"

"Oh, yes, Malfoy. I'm quite sure."

"Then what's this little tête-à-tête all about?" Draco spun her back round, aware that the music would be coming to an end soon.

"Harry is my friend. In fact, he's my best friend and I am not going to see get him hurt by anyone, least of all you."

"And you think I care about what you think? This has nothing to do with you." Grey eyes glared into brown. "Or maybe being Head Girl has gone to your head. Since when does Harry, or _anyone_ else need your permission to do anything?"

"He doesn't. He's perfectly capable of making a complete hash of his life without my interfering at all. But I will not stand by and let him do that." They had come to a complete halt in the middle of the dance floor even though the music was still playing. Hermione leaned closer to the Slytherin as she spoke. "I know what you're doing because he's told me, and I am not going to let you suck him into whatever little mind games you're playing."

A smile, which started as a smirk but rapidly changed into something else, spread across Draco's face. "Oh, believe me, Granger, I intend to suck him right in." The music faded with the pair still standing in the middle of the dance floor. "And if you're a good friend of his, then I guess you won't mind covering for him later." 

"I am only going to warn you this once, Malfoy. Don't you dare hurt him."

"If you're his friend, then meet him outside the Hall after this next dance. He'll need his broom and a warm cloak."

"What?" Hermione hissed. Something suddenly changed in Draco's expression. He almost seemed to look pleading. "I'm not going to be party to your little games."

"Don't spoil this, Hermione."

This time she looked shocked. "Don't think you can get around me by called me something other than Granger or Mudblood, Draco." She stepped back and dropped into a delicate curtsey, suddenly aware that Harry was just a few feet from her, his own dance partner still in his arms.

Draco watched her for a second before executing a bow, which showed just the correct amount of deference. He glanced surreptitiously to his right at Harry.

As Hermione walked from the dance floor, Harry favoured his partner with a smile. "Thank you," he took her hand and lightly kissed the outstretched fingers, causing Ashleigh to give a coy giggle. Then he looked at Draco.

They were standing in the middle of the dance floor and for a moment Harry had the impression that they were alone. He felt completely cut off from the several hundred people either making their way back to their respective tables or waiting for the next dance to start.

The candlelight was glinting off the burnished gold of Draco's waistcoat, reflecting up onto his face and hair, and turning the platinum to liquid fire. Harry had the sudden desperate urge to touch it and he swallowed, briefly closing his eyes. When he opened them again, Draco was gone. Harry felt bereft and was sure his stomach flipped. Almost involuntarily he spun round, looking for the Slytherin.

And almost crashed into him. Draco was now at his right side, facing the front of the hall, eyes facing forward rather than looking at Harry. "Up to a Wizard's Challenge?"

"What?" Harry cringed. Why was he always saying that to Draco? What are you doing? What was that for? What? Harry realised that the familiar line-up of people had taken place in the few seconds he had closed his eyes.

"Harry."

The voice came from his left, and Harry turned, meeting Ron's blue eyes. He nodded "Ron."

"Ready to show me how much you've learned?"

Harry looked surprised as Ron settled into place at his side. Then recalling an earlier discussion of dancing The Challenge, "Ron, I..." 

"Piss off, Weasel." Draco's voice hissed.

"Up yours, Ferret." Ron voice was equally as venomous.

"You'll get your turn later. In the meantime, I'm going to pound Potter into the ground, so get lost."

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Harry heard the music start. A slow regular beat that was almost felt rather than heard. Around him, people had started to move, meeting the beat with measured strides. 

_Left foot down, raise on the toes of the foot and a quarter turn to the left. Step onto the right, rock back and then forward onto the left. Another quarter turn..._

"Get lost yourself, Malfoy."

Harry finally turned on his friend. "Ron, please...."

_Another quarter turn and back to the start. Rock back and step onto the right foot.... _

Draco led, his movements joining seamlessly with those around him. He rose lightly onto the toes of his right foot and turned, his back now to Harry.

"What? You want to dance with _that?"_ Ron turned, anger on his face, and glared at Harry.

"He asked first. Just give it a rest."

"Well, fuck you too." Ron turned and stormed away.

Harry watched his retreating back, red hair gleaming in the candlelight as he disappeared into the distance. When Harry looked back at Draco, the boy was facing him, rising up delicately on his toes, meeting Harry's green eyes with his own gold-flecked grey, a questioning eyebrow raised slightly. Draco turned again, facing the front as Harry stepped into place.

It took Harry several moves to get back into the beat of the music, but by the time the opening steps had been repeated, he had fallen into line, his mind concentrating on the steps rather than on the person beside him. He counted out the timing in his head, using it to help him keep the beat, and his eyes followed the people around him so that he could remember the steps. Occasionally, he would catch the nimble feet of the Slytherin as he turned with the music, finding his eyes following the slim ankle and calf.

Then the music changed, shifting up in tempo and beat. This time Harry was ready and he slid gracefully into the new steps.

_Step, ball-change, kick right...._

"Ready, Potter?"

The voice seemed so close that Harry almost thought Draco had to be next to him, whispering in his ear, but he was still three feet away. He missed a step and struggled quickly to catch up.

"Let's make this a proper Challenge. See if you can keep up."

With that Draco's whole demeanour changed. He looked as if he were going into battle. He did a sudden kick and gestured for Harry to follow him into a clear space on the dance floor.

Harry didn't move. In fact he had stopped moving completely, knowing full well he didn't have the ability to match dance steps with Draco. But what would be worse? To try and fail, or to walk off the dance floor now?

Then Draco was moving around him, in perfect time with the music, in a circle with Harry at its centre. Harry watched, following the moving figure as he dipped and rose to the beat of the music. Always those eyes on him and a hand held out towards him. Long fingers gestured toward him, beckoning Harry to follow.

For a moment, Harry hesitated as he had done two weeks before when Draco had reached out to him. But this time, he took a deep breath and fell in step with Draco. There was a moment of exquisite pleasure as, in front of several hundred people, their fingers brushed lightly together.

And Harry moved forward and followed Draco into the dance.

********************

They danced as if there was no one else in the Hall, both only intent on each other's movements. Harry followed as best he could, but knew he was completely outmatched. The grace he had seen in Draco's flying extended to how he moved his body on the ground. It was fluid and graceful, mean and hard, soft and sweet. But the dance went beyond the physical, and it was as if they shared the same experience.

Then Harry realised he wasn't following anymore. Realised something had changed and shifted. Realised that Draco was carrying him. Realised this gold-clad boy was so aware of Harry that he was there, lifting Harry through the steps and carrying him through the music. Draco could have out-danced him, left him floundering on the rapidly emptying dance floor and making him look a fool. Instead he carried Harry through the music, creating steps that made them look good and which suited Harry's heavier stride.

Harry found his eyes on Draco all the time, watching and following every movement the boy made. Completely entranced, he was lost to the world and when the movements changed, becoming more and more sensual, he followed without hesitation, the gap between them closing. Neither touched the other, but Harry was aware of the heat from the other's body. Saw how the golden waistcoat gaped when Draco moved his arm, revealing the taut, lightly muscled abdomen. Followed the bead of perspiration, which ran down his skin to disappear into his waistband. Watched the slim legs moving in time to the music.

And he was aware all the time of the frost-covered rivers of Draco's eyes watching him.

As the music rose to its climax, Draco finally carried out a jump Harry knew he stood no chance of copying. Instead he reached out as if catching the Snitch, and grabbed Draco's hand. Harry pulled him out of the jump and down to his side, spinning the Slytherin around him once before ending in the traditional final pose. Side-by-side, one facing forward, the other in the opposite direction. They touched lightly; shoulder to shoulder, arm to arm, hip to hip. But neither turned to face each other as, breathless, they stared straight ahead. 

The room erupted into applause.

Part of Harry's mind took in the fact that they were the only people on the dance floor, and that everyone else was watching them. But the main part was fixated on himself and the person beside him. Harry was gasping for breath, his chest frantically trying to suck in huge amounts of air. He wanted to fall into Draco's arms right at that moment. Wanted to keep the feelings he had experienced during the dance. That sense of Draco carrying him and leading him. Wanted Draco to know he understood what the Slytherin had done, and that he didn't mind.

Wanted Draco to know just how seriously he was turned on.

Harry suddenly became aware of his own erection, and realised that, given the nature of what he was wearing, the whole room would soon be aware of it too. He blenched at the prospect and, without a word, turned from the dance floor and fled. He paused just long enough at the table to collect his discarded clothes and, holding them in front of him, he dived from the room.

From his place on the dance floor, Draco watched with a knowing smile and slowly made his way back to his seat. He too picked up his own cloak, but made a much more dignified exit.

********************

Hermione had been waiting for him in the entrance hall when he had bolted from the Great Hall. She was sitting on a large sofa, which, clearly, the upholsterer hadn't been able to decide what colours to cover it in. All the house colours were represented, clashing quite badly with the gold of Hermione's skirt.

She gave him a hard stare, one Harry well remembered from other occasions when he had done something she didn't approve of. "Enjoy your dance?"

"Did you watch?"

"I saw most of it."

"Well...." The tunic was scrunched in front of him. "It wasn't my idea. He started it."

"Of course. And Harry Potter hasn't done anything to encourage him." She came to her feet and snatched at the tunic, giving it a quick shake. "I can't believe I'm doing this." The words were muttered to herself as she held up the tunic, waiting for Harry to slip it back on.

He didn't move. "Doing what?"

"Malfoy asked me to get your Firebolt and a warm cloak. I got the impression he expected you to know where to go." She pulled the tunic over his shoulders and began to fasten the silver lacing. "Where are you going?"

Harry took a breath and swallowed. Of course he knew where to meet the Slytherin. The place they had shared at New Year and then two weeks ago. "Hagrid's cottage," he finally whispered.

She gathered up the black travel cloak and pulled it around his shoulders, hiding the clothes beneath from view. "Do you trust him?" 

********************

**_Hagrid's cottage -- about 11pm _**

The cottage was in darkness as Harry had expected. He paused outside for a moment, his breath condensing into a white mist in front of him, as he checked the security spells around the door. Nothing had been tampered with and he quickly let himself in. Once inside, he held up his wand and softly intoned _"Lumos." _A soft glow appeared from the wand tip, casting enough light for him to see by. The cottage was chilly, and he wondered whether Hagrid had been there since the last time Harry had been there with Draco. The half-giant had been quite happy with the added security Harry had placed around the cottage and had virtually handed the building over to his young friend.

"I don't ever get time to go there myself," Hagrid had commented, his huge hand on Harry's shoulder. "You can use it whenever you want."

Harry crossed to the fireplace, which was as he had left it; the logs ready to be lit. He looked at his wand for a moment. What was it Draco had said? That wands were dampeners rather than enhancers of magic? If that really were the case, why would Dumbledore and everyone else lie about it? He passed the wand from hand to hand, and then held out his right hand towards the fireplace. Could it hurt just to try? To see if he felt any energy? Of course, he could end up setting fire to the entire building. A smile played on his lips as he said in a clear voice _"Incendio."_

Nothing.

Not even a spark or a splutter of smoke. The smile grew, and Harry realised he was actually chuckling. "So much for the great Harry Potter's magical abilities," he mused. This time he used the wand, and as he intoned the charm, the fire roared into life. He stepped back instinctively, surprised by the initial ferocity of the flames. The inferno settled down, almost immediately removing the chill from the room as the same spell brought the under floor heating to life. 

He stood there for a moment, basking in the warmth after the chilly journey from Hogwarts over the frost-covered landscape. The sky was awash with stars. He loved nights like that -- nights when you could look into the darkness and see infinity spread before you. Eyes glanced briefly at the curtained window, he wondered whether to sit outside so that he could watch the night while he waited.

Waited for him.

"What are you doing, Harry?" he mused to himself.

The question was, of course, rhetorical and really quite pointless. There wasn't an answer, at least not one he cared to voice at that moment. _Do you trust him?_ Hermione had asked 15 minutes ago. At the time he hadn't been able to answer her. Hadn't known how to express in a few words what he had been feeling now for weeks.

She had leaned in and kissed him lightly on the cheek, whispering, "Be careful" before disappearing back into the Great Hall.

A hand reached up, resting on the wood of the mantelpiece as he stared into the flames.

_Do you trust him? _

He frowned. Weeks? No, not weeks, he decided, this had been going on for years, marked by the bitter fights and snide comments.

He turned away swiftly from the warmth of the fire. It was all about trust, wasn't it? Did he trust this person? Did he _want_ to trust him? Or was this some sort of new game between them made more exciting because of the element of danger? _Sleeping with the enemy, _Harry reflected as he leaned against the wall where Draco had stood two weeks ago. The same spot they had sat that Saturday afternoon in each other's arms.

So close, and yet so far apart from each other.

Back pressed to the wood panelled wall, Harry's hands touched the surface as if it still held their shared heat.

_Do you trust him?_

"Yes." The single word was spoken aloud, shattering the silence of the room. He sank down to the floor, the wand dropping from his hand. It clattered noisily on the ground. Even as he uttered that single word, the doubt crept back in, insidiously eating at him

_What if this is all some sort of game to the Slytherin? What if Draco is just playing an elaborate hoax in our continued battle? What if today was just some big joke to him?_

Huddled in the warmth of his cloak, he waited.

********************

He didn't know how long he had been there. It could have only been minutes. It felt like hours. Deep inside his mind, the niggling Nasty Voice intoned its terrible monologue; _He isn't coming. He's back in the Slytherin Common Room right now laughing at what he got the Great Harry Potter to do._

The Voice had been there for as long as Harry could remember, uttering things that might one day befall him, and for the first time Harry realised it belonged to Uncle Vernon. It was the voice that had chastised him all his life, which had shouted punishments through the door of his cupboard when he was shut in the dark, which had accompanied threats and punishments. And it followed him here to this place where he had once felt safe, but now where the demon of his childhood stalked again.

There was a rising fear in the pit of his stomach now. A fear that said he wasn't good enough. That he had never been good enough. _Why would anyone, especially Draco, be interested in you? He probably knows more than a virgin like you. Imagine how he'll laugh when you come too soon and if you couldn't satisfy him._ The voice continued._ He's just sporting with you, playing on your needy emotions._

But, he told me about the Portkey. He said all those things. And look what he's done today.

_Just what has he done? The Portkey? How do you know he's telling the truth about that? His sweet honeyed words? Draco was always good with words, remember? As for today? Where is the famous Harry Potter control now? He throws you a few gifts and you let him take complete control. Idiot. And if he does decide to turn up now, don't you realise he's going to want payment for all those nice little presents?_

He has to care. Look at the way he touched me in the robe shop. 

_Care? Two months ago he would have handed you over to Voldemort. Didn't he tell you that? And look what he's done to you today. At those clothes you're wearing. He's as good as branded you with his Slytherin colours. What does that make you? His little whore?_

No! It's not like that at all.

_He's going to want payment, Harry. People like Draco don't give things away -- they always expect payment._

"Damn you, Draco Malfoy." Harry's head dropped to his knees.

He jumped physically at a noise from outside the front door and, fumbling for his wand, he scrambled to his feet. A hand dragged across his face, wiping away tears he hadn't realised he'd cried. The door catch rattled, but didn't open and there was a soft knocking sound. He stood there for a moment, adrenaline flooding his blood stream.

What if it wasn't Draco?

What if it WAS Draco?

The knocking sound came again, more insistent. This time Harry crossed to the door and opened it.

"It's cold out there." Draco pushed past, leaning his broom against the wall next to Harry's.

"Yes," was all Harry could think of saying as the Slytherin crossed to the fire, holding his hands out to the flames. The internal monologue was still running through his mind, chattering insidiously at him in some strange attempt at undermining what remaining confidence he currently had. "I thought maybe you'd changed your mind, or that I'd gotten the wrong place?"

"No." Draco turned, illuminated by the flames. "It took a while to get rid of the dynamic duo. They probably think I'm off shagging someone in the Astronomy Tower."

Harry didn't move from his place by the now closed door. "Oh." 

"And you?"

"Hermione is making my excuses."

A smile played on Draco's face. "Ah yes, the inimitable Miss Granger. You've told her." It was a statement, not a question.

"I...." Harry was still in the shadows by the door, but Draco could see the discomfort in his body language. "I... well. It was difficult. She wanted to know where the clothes came from." He folded his arms across his chest. "I take it you were responsible."

Draco shrugged. "She made it perfectly clear what she thought of me, and gave me notice that if I did anything to hurt you, she would come after me with a very sharp pointed stick." He removed his black travel cloak, folding it carefully before placing it over the back of a chair.

Watching the movement, Harry marvelled at the way the firelight reflected off the burgundy silk. It turned Draco into a column of flame. "How did you manage everything this evening? I don't think it was a coincidence that you managed to end up dancing with me."

"I was impressed myself, both with my organisational skills and your dancing." Draco stepped away from the fire, a rustle of silk in the otherwise silent room. "You were crap last time I watched."

"Thanks, I can always rely on your praise."

"I consider it to be my raison d'être."

"Everyone noticed."

"You dancing? I think you gave them ample reason to notice."

"I mean the clothes. The Slytherin colours."

"Harry, it might have escaped your notice, but you often wear green. It suits you. I wanted you...." The voice faded a little. There was a movement under the floor-length silk cloak and Harry decided Draco had folded his arms. "I didn't force you to wear it." 

"That wasn't what I meant. It's ... it's everything. The flowers. The dragon. What ... happened in the robe shop."

"Did you like that? The robe shop?"

Harry felt a familiar flush creeping across his face. "Yes." The single word was a whisper.

"Then are you going to stand over there all night?"

"I might."

"Don't you ever get fed up standing in the shadows, Harry?"

"What?" The folded arms tightened, holding him like a security blanket.

"You're always in the shadows."

"I am not," Harry quickly protested.

"Hmmm. Oh, Harry the Brave Gryffindor doesn't stand in the shadows. Isn't that what the Sorting Hat said of Gryffindors when we were Sorted? Brave at heart? Full of daring, nerve and chivalry?" 

"And what did it say about Slytherins? Cunning folk who use any means to achieve their ends."

"I don't have problems with that. But it was Harry the Brave who was paraded earlier for all to see." Harry started to protest, but Draco continued. "I'm not talking about brave, chivalrous Harry." A finger pointed at him. "I'm talking about you. The quiet one. The person who hid behind Granger earlier. Who's in the shadows now." 

Hesitating for a moment longer, Harry finally stepped into the firelight. He crossed the room, stopping a few feet from Draco. If he looked as bad as he felt at that moment, Draco didn't react to it. "I've never hidden in the shadows."

Draco raised a finger to Harry's cheek and wiped away a tear track. "No, of course not." The hand dropped away.

"And I'm not scared of you."

"Of course you aren't." The voice held no contempt and there was something in Draco's face Harry saw on very few occasions. A softness that was only ever there when Draco knew no one was looking at him. 

Realising he couldn't hold the gaze, Harry reached for the clasp of his own travel cloak.

"No, don't." The voice whispered.

Harry's hand stopped, fingers touching the silver clasp. "Sorry?" 

"Would you mind if...?" A second step brought Draco directly in front of Harry, their toes almost touching.

"What?"

"Oh, just..." Draco pushed Harry's hand down. "Let me do that." 

Taking hold of Harry's hands, Draco pulled him forward until the dark-haired boy was standing on the sheepskin rug. He let go of the arms, which fell back to Harry's side, hidden again in the folds of his cloak.

For a moment, both were still. Then Draco's fingers reached for the clasp of the cloak. He carefully opened it and, moving behind Harry, pulled the cloak from his shoulders. With the same care he had folded his own cloak, Draco placed it over the chair.

In front of Harry again, he looked thoughtfully at the figure before him as if sizing him up. "Do you know how good you look?" Harry's mouth opened a little as though he was going to answer, but he could think of nothing to say. "But then you look good even in that oversized tat of your cousin's. Why do you let them do that to you?"

"Do what?" The breath caught in Harry's throat as Draco's hand reached up to gently cradle his cheek.

"Let those Muggles treat you so badly. You're a bloody wizard." 

Harry realised he was leaning into the caress. "I'm not allowed to use magic. And they are my family." He inwardly flinched, unable to believe that he was defending the Dursleys.

A second hand rose to his face and Harry found himself trapped within the embrace. Palms touching his cheeks, fingers splayed around his ears and in his hair. "Would you like me to deal with them?" The two thumbs brushed gently over his lips.

"No." A thumb pushed between his parted lips as he spoke. He felt it brush against his teeth, and without thinking, the tip of his tongue rose to touch the invader.

"If you ever change your mind...." Draco removed his thumb, sweeping its moistened surface across the still parted lips as he did so. Then he leaned in and touched his own mouth to Harry's.

Harry might have bested the Dark Lord on more than one occasion. He might have won the Triwizard Tournament. He might already have received three invitations to play Quidditch professionally. But the Golden Boy had never really kissed anyone. There had been Hermione, but kissing her was like kissing Ginny -- like one's favourite sister. There had been his goodbye kiss to Cho, which was, he remembered, quite nice. Then there had been the Ravenclaw, something he would rather forget. It had been wet and sloppy with her trying to stick her tongue down his throat and him trying to stop her.

This was, his suddenly numb mind decided, nothing like anything he had experienced in the past.

The first touch on his mouth was like a breath of air blowing across them. It took him a moment to realise it felt like that because that was exactly what it was. Draco's soft breath brushed back and forth across his lips like a physical touch. Harry's tongue moved unbidden to moisten his lips as the breath dried them, and as his mouth opened he felt the breath within, gently moving across his tongue.

Then the breath was replaced by a real physical touch. Draco's mouth swept across his own in slow, leisurely movements, capturing his lower lip briefly before changing to the upper and then taking in both. The hands, which still rested on either side of his face, held him and Harry made no move to pull away, unable and unwilling to stop Draco from doing whatever he wanted. In fact, a still functioning part of Harry decided, it was all he could do to remain on his feet as the slow but sure suck and lick of Draco's mouth on his own continued.

Harry was just about coping with the invading sensations. He wanted to respond, but couldn't. To respond would mean losing the amazing feelings Draco's touch was creating in his body. The feeling started in the pit of his stomach and spread rapidly downward. It turned his knees to jelly and he was sure the only reason he was still on his feet was because of the grip Draco had on his face.

Then Draco swept his tongue over Harry's lips.

His groan was a whimper and his mind exploded into overload. An arm suddenly caught hold of his upper body, holding him against the silk of Draco's cloak while the other hand gripped into his hair. He wanted to breathe, but as he did, the invading tongue swept over his teeth, and this time his legs did give way.

With Harry's dead weight in his arms, Draco allowed his own knees to bend. They ended up on the floor, Harry's back against the sofa, Draco against him, their legs a jumble as Draco finally pulled back. 

The eyes that looked at him were vivid green in the firelight, bright with emotion and the face was oh so beautifully flushed. And the red lips. Draco had always admired that full mouth, but now with blood and passion pooled within the much-kissed skin, Harry's lips were parted, ready for him to ravish again. Draco leaned forward, his tongue grazed over Harry's mouth before capturing his lower lip and sucking a little harder than before.

Harry wanted to do something ... anything ... but his arms felt like they no longer belonged to him. They hung limply at his side as his head fell back a little, allowing Draco better access, and for that seeking tongue to touch his own as it moved in deeper. Then, as his tongue moved against Draco's, Harry found a new sensation to add to those that had been overloading his being since he first felt Draco's breath on his lips. The taste of someone else in his own mouth.

There was a hint of Butterbeer mixed within the taste of myrrh and mint of what must be toothpaste. The rational Harry panicked. _I never cleaned my teeth._ But he still tried to pull the taste into his own mouth, wanting to remember it ... to own it.

Then the hot mouth was gone, leaving him with a tingling aftertaste which caused his tongue to sweep over his own lips and the inside of his mouth in an effort to sense Draco within him again. 

When the hand touched his bare midriff, Harry almost bit his own tongue. He started at the touch, hissed at the trail of fingertips against his skin. He shivered at the touch even though the trail left by the fingers was warm, and for a few seconds he became lost in the movement that traced the tattoo lines on his flesh.

It was when the hand pushed under his shirt that Harry came back to reality with a start. Life returned to the deadweight of his limbs, and he struggled upright again, grabbing frantically at the hand to halt its progress.

"Wait... Wait a minute...."

"What?" Draco's question was a hiss of annoyance as he pushed against Harry's grip.

For the first time in what seemed a lifetime, Harry met Draco's eyes. The pupils were huge, almost obscuring the grey, and they glinted with something Harry didn't understand. Was that passion, he wondered? Can I make him look like that? Cause his skin to flush and his breath to gasp?

"Draco, I need to know." He grabbed the Slytherin's hands and held them both tightly, pushing Draco away.

"I need to know if you're serious, or whether this is just another of your games?"

--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*-- 

Would you dance if I asked you to dance? Would you run and never look back? Would you cry if you saw me cry? And would you save my soul, tonight? Would you tremble if I touched your lips? Would you laugh? Oh please tell me this. Now would you die for the one you loved? Hold me in your arms, tonight. 

Hero -- Enrique Iglesias

-----------------------------------------------------

**Chapter 4: Darkness Rising **

**_An extract from Harry's Journal:_** _Sunday 15th February 1998: _Now that went well, didn't it!

Is Draco playing games? Why is Hermione mad at him? Why is she mad at Harry? What photos does Colin have that might upset people? Will people notice Draco has a Gryffindor badge on his cloak? Will Draco notice he has a Gryffindor badge on his cloak? Who are Shadow and Cloud? Who is the new teacher and what is he going to teach? Preparations for the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin (who else would it be between?). The Astronomy Tower (what H/D would be complete without at least one visit here).

**_The Music:_**

_Just You Wait _is from the film _My Fair Lady. _ Words and music: Alan Jay Lerner and Frederick Loewe

_The Valentine Ball music:_

Draco dances with Hermione to: _Free_ and _News from Nowhere_ (Afro Celt Sound System Volume 1 Sound Magic)

Harry's Wizard's Challenge dance with Christian is danced to: _Release It _(Afro Celt Sound System Volume 2 Release)

Harry's Wizard's Challenge dance with Draco is danced to: _Dark Moon, High Tide_ (the end of the track) and _Whirl-Y-Reel 2 Nowhere_ (Afro Celt Sound System Volume 1 Sound Magic)

_Special thanks to Alex for introducing me to Afro Celt -- this music is what I now use to write to. I love it!_

**Author's note:** Once again I was taken aback by the response to Chapter 2 of Resolution. Thank you to EVERYONE who reviewed at FictionAlley, FanFiction.net, Draco_101 and via email. I have tried to respond to as many of you as possible, but not everyone left an email address. I have also tried to compile a proper 'thank you list', but in the end it became impossible Please accept this note as a personal thank you to everyone. Your comments are alway welcome and I enjoyed reading them all. Thanks.

**_Special thanks_**

**To my Betas: **_Alex, Ashleigh Paige, Aja, Debbie, Ina, Lynn, Stacey and Tine. _

**To Debbie **for checking my spelling.

_To everyone_ on the _Guns+Handcuffs forum at FictionAlley Par_k and at _Worlds_Colliding_ for their support and inspiration.

**_Artwork: _**

I am very lucky to have had some artwork drawn for all three chapters of Resolution. **Plu, bhanesidhe** and **Milena's **artwork for Chapter 3 is highlighted throughout the chapter.

Please do take a moment to check out these other wonderful pieces as well:

**Adi's **wonder drawing of Harry in his Quidditch t-shirt and Draco sitting on the floor of Hagrid's cottage (both scenes from Chapter 2) 

**Milena's** drawing of Harry writing his journal and Ron and Harry looking at star charts (both from Chapter 2).

**Bhanesidhe's** drawing of Harry taking off Draco's ski jacket from Chapter 1.

The Yahoo group for Resolution has changed recently, it can now be found on HP_Worlds_Colliding , the new joint home of both Resolution and my non-slash story Coming of Age.

Any reviews are more than welcome, either here on the Fiction Alley Board (click on review), to me at frances@forever.u-net.com or feel free to post your comments at Worlds Colliding.


	4. Incompatible under normal circumstances

**Title: Resolution. Chapter 4 (part 1): Incompatible under normal circumstances (4a/?)**

**Author name: **Frances Potter

**Author email: **frances@forever.u-net.com

**Category: **Slash (Harry/Draco), Humour, Romance, Angst

**Keywords:** Harry, Draco, 7th year, Slash

**Spoilers: **All books

**Rating: **R. Slash. Male/Male sexual relationship. Language. Adult themes.

**Summary: **res·o·lu·tion, noun -- solving of doubts, problems, questions etc. The Concise Oxford Dictionary

When you've spent six years fighting evil, all you really want is a quiet time. But when your name is Harry Potter the chances of that are very slim. Exams, friends, lovers, enemies, Quidditch, birthdays, the war and Draco all conspire to make Harry's final six months very, very complicated and the end of term a long way off. Slash (Harry/Draco)

**Chapter 4 (part 1): **Incompatible under normal circumstances. Arguments, reunions, bad guys, showers, a sofa and some skilful hands.

**Disclaimer: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Dedication: **This chapter is dedicated to **Zed Adams,** my guru on all matters *cough* intimate. Thank you for all the intriguing chat sessions, long may they continue.

--------------------

**Please note: **This chapter follows directly on from events in Chapter 3. The events in Chapters 3 and 4 all take place over a 38-hour period.

The story so far... 

It is 1998 and 17-year-old Harry Potter is in his last few months at Hogwarts. After a disastrous summer during which he was forced to kill a Death Eater who was threatening Ron, Harry has become a quieter, more insular person. He's spending much of his free time alone at a cottage in Hogsmeade belonging to Hagrid, and it is here he decides to see the New Year in. Unfortunately Draco Malfoy ends up stranded there after being caught in a blizzard while out skiing. The two enemies are forced to spend the day (and night) together and they manage to actually talk civilly for the first time since starting at the Wizarding School.

Over the next six weeks the boys have to deal with their growing interest in each other. Harry, who is hardly the Casanova, begins to wonder if he might just prefer boys to girls and finally confides in his closest friend, Hermione Granger. Meanwhile, Draco is having his loyalties tested. His father wants him to betray Harry and turn him over to Voldemort, but now Draco is unsure whether he can do this. 

Then comes the Valentine's Day Ball, and Draco decides to take the opportunity to seduce Harry. He gives Harry several gifts including a small silver dragon. Everything seems to be going well, until they meet up at Hagrid's cottage again. Draco is eager, but Harry is unsure. He doesn't trust Draco and is also insecure about his own feelings and emotions. This is, after all, his old enemy Draco Malfoy coming on to him. And hasn't Draco admitted to having dabbled in the Dark Arts?

So, when Draco finally kisses him, Harry is torn between desperately wanting the Slytherin and his own self-doubts and insecurities.

--------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Prologue: 

**Author's Note: **As a companion piece to Resolution, Harry has been given his own LiveJournal. I decided I wanted to expand on Harry's Journals and setting up a LiveJournal of his own seemed to be a good way of approaching this. The idea behind this was to help me understand him just a little more. The additional journal entries don't normally have to be read to follow the actual story. However, something happened in one of these entries that I will be referring to in this chapter. What follows is the relevant entry from his journal and I hope it will help make sense of what is said later. Harry wrote this entry a month BEFORE the events that take place in Chapters 3 and 4. The journals can be found at http://www.livejournal.com/users/harrys_journal/

--------------------------------------------------------------------- 

**_Harry's Journal -- Saturday 17th January 1998 _**

NIGHTMARE

I need to write it down before I forget.

God, my scar hurts.

Two people in black robes.

One kneeling, the other's got his hand on the kneeling person's shoulder.

He's talking but I don't hear the words.

Shit, this hurts so bad I think I might die.

I need one of my potions, but I left it in the drawer.

I don't think I can get out of bed to get it.

-*-*-

**_Morning -- at least it's now daylight_**

I woke up on the floor. Don't know how long I've been asleep since the nightmare. I must have taken the potion mix because there's a paper wrapper on the floor beside the glass. And I guess it worked again because the pain has gone. Before Professor Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey came up with this minor miracle, on bad scar days like this, I'd be left with a headache for days afterwards. They are getting worse -- both the nightmares and the pain. Does that mean Voldemort is close? I have such a bad feeling about things some days. 

As for all my wonderful friends who have PROMISED to keep an eye on me -- not one of them heard me collapse. I could have been lying here dead for all they cared! I don't mean that, of course. I wouldn't have heard if one of them had collapsed either.

Oh, before I go on, there was a second dream. I was in the tunnels under the castle flying along on 'his' broomstick. The image is so clear even though I've been awake for nearly an hour. We've been talking about dream interpretation in Divination. Maybe I should ask Professor Trelawney what both dreams mean. She suggested keeping a dream journal. It's bad enough keeping an ordinary journal without having to write down my dreams as well!

Still, I'm glad I wrote that little bit about the nightmare because I don't even remember having it now. This happens all the time with Voldemort-related dreams. I normally know I've had one, but can never remember what has happened in them. And I KNOW this one was connected with Voldemort because of the pain in my scar.

I wonder if I should tell Sirius?

It seems stupid because I don't remember anything about it. I'm going to have to tell Madam Pomfrey so I can get a new potion mix from her. She is bound to talk to Professor Dumbledore AND Professor Lupin. Professor Lupin will tell Sirius, so I guess I better get in there first. Maybe I should remind Madam Pomfrey about student confidentiality!

Oh, and I've decided NEVER to mention him in here again. Not after Potions yesterday and that weird dream with the broomstick.

I need to remember what it was like Before New Year -- BNY!!!

Things don't -- can't -- change that quickly.

-*-*-

**_Late afternoon -- dark and miserable and wet_**

Quidditch practice started in a snowstorm but ended in the rain! Yuck -- cold, wet rain!

What a stupid thing to say -- rain is always wet!

We play Hufflepuff next week so Ron's had us training in all weathers. Of course his real target is Slytherin. He's so convinced we can win all our matches this season. We beat Ravenclaw at the beginning of the season and haven't played in competition since. Slytherin and Ravenclaw both beat Hufflepuff, which means there are just three matches left. Us against Hufflepuff next Saturday, Slytherin vs. Ravenclaw on 1st February, and then we play Slytherin on 14th March.

Of course, I had to practice on a SCHOOL BROOM!

We were on our way out to practice when I ran into Professor Snape. I turned a corner and he was there talking to "!" (I said I wasn't going to mention him anymore) and the end of my broom caught Snape right on his knee. For the record it was not a very hard blow, though I wish now I had whacked him around the head with the broom because he decided to confiscate it. Then, with "!" standing there with his arms folded and a smirk on his face, Snape proceeded to tell me I won't get to use it for the rest of term. Guess when term ends? 

3rd April -- AFTER all the Quidditch games are over.

Ron wants me to go to Professor McGonagall, but I know that's what Snape wants -- me to go crying to her. I will get it back, but not through her interceding! I am going to ask him before this year ends. I want to bloody well know just why he hates me so much. His fight was with my dad, not me. So why is the fucker ALWAYS taking things out on me? On that last day, when he can't give me any more detentions or take points I am going to pin him against a wall and make him TELL ME!

And this drawing is of my pinning him against the wall! Note how my wand is up his great big nose! I think I will go to the library and find a nice little spell to give him a yucky cold.

So, practice was strange. The broom just isn't the same and is nowhere near as fast as the Firebolt, so I will have to get some extra practice in if I'm going to be any good against Hufflepuff. 

"!" decided to come and watch my pain as I tried to fly on a broom which is nowhere near as responsive as what I'm used to. No doubt he had a good snigger about it with all of his little Slytherin team mates later.

I am going to play him out of the sky when we meet on the 14th. 

--------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Chapter 4: Incompatible under normal circumstances 

**_Sunday 15th February 1998: Just after midnight ... Hagrid's cottage ..._**

"Wait... Wait a minute...."

"What?" Draco's question was a hiss of annoyance as he pushed against Harry's grip.

For the first time in what seemed a lifetime, Harry met Draco's eyes. The pupils were huge, almost obscuring the grey, and they glinted with something Harry didn't understand. Was that passion, he wondered? Can I make him look like that? Cause his skin to flush and his breath to gasp?

"Draco, I need to know." He grabbed the Slytherin's hands and held them both tightly, pushing Draco away. "I need to know if you're serious, or whether this is just another one of your games."

Draco became very still. "What?" The response was hard and cold. 

"I said..."

"I know what you said." He struggled to free his hands from Harry's grasp, but the Gryffindor kept his grip. Hard, angry grey eyes locked with green for a moment and Harry let go as though the touch suddenly stung. Quickly Draco untangled himself from the other's limbs and pulled away.

"I just don't believe you said that."

Draco pushed himself away so they were no longer touching, and the loss of all contact made Harry gasp. His head snapped up, meeting the Slytherin's stare, which cut into Harry. He had been on the receiving end of that iceman look in the past, but never like this. The change from the burning passion of the kiss to this ice-covered glare froze him to the spot.

"How can you still think that? Why the hell would you say such a thing?" Draco hissed, his voice low and bitter.

"I..." Harry winced under the artic stare that surrounded the burning core of Draco's anger, and he stumbled over his words. The depth of both his own and Draco's emotions cut deeply. It felt like someone had stuck a knife into him and was slowly turning the blade. He instinctively began moving away from Draco. Away from the kneeling figure clad in a cloak turned fiery red by the flames. The glow reflected along the underside of Draco's face and lit his hair with its brilliance. "I just need to know. Look, we've hated each other for six years, and..."

"And what?" The words were spat out.

"And six weeks ago something changed. I don't know what changed but suddenly we're touching and kissing...." Harry flinched as Draco suddenly got to his feet and strode to the fire. He placed his hands on the wooden mantelpiece, the cloak falling back to reveal his bare arms.

"And this is suddenly a problem for you?" Draco didn't turn; his words were spoken into the flames. "I don't remember you being worried when we were here two weeks ago, or when you gave me those coy looks across the Great Hall at breakfast."

"That was different."

"Or when we were in the robe shop." He finally spun round again. "You didn't mind when we were touching then. For fuck's sake Harry, you nearly kissed me. And you would have if that woman hadn't come back in."

"That was different," Harry repeated, taken aback by the strength of Draco's words.

"How was it bloody different?" Draco started to pace. "Didn't you say a few minutes ago you enjoyed what happened at the robe shop?" 

"Yes, but..."

Draco stopped and pointed an accusatory finger at Harry. "If you say it was different, so help me I might just do something I will live to regret." His voice rose for the first time.

Aware of the way Draco towered over him, Harry scrambled to his feet so they were once again face-to-face. It was bad enough trying to gather his thoughts when they were both on an equal footing, but to have Draco glaring down at him just made it impossible to think. "It's a simple question, Draco, I want to know if you are serious." 

"About what?" The tone rose again.

"About THIS!" Harry's voice matched Draco's and he stood there, with his fists clenched tightly. "We've spent years fighting and arguing with each other. When we're not doing that, we're ignoring each other. Suddenly ... suddenly we're kissing. I mean REALLY kissing. You're a boy for god's sake."

Draco folded his arms, his weight transferring to one foot as his gaze raked over Harry. "Nice of you to notice. Do you have a problem with that?"

"With what?"

"Kissing boys. Kissing me."

"I..." Harry blinked, some of his own anger suddenly dissipating at least for a moment. "Stop twisting things back to me. You -- you started last night with that comment in the Potions classroom. Then all those things at breakfast, and the clothes --" He tugged at the tunic. "-- And the dancing -- and..."

"Is this because I picked some clothes out for you? You can't deny I have much better taste then you do. Just imagine what you would have been wearing now if I hadn't been there. God, Potter, you can be such an arse."

Harry watched the Slytherin for a moment, noting the hard look on his face and the condescending way he stared back. "Here, take them back then." He tried to undo the lacing down the front of the tunic, but it caught into a knot.

"No. What the hell would I do with them?"

"Well, I don't want them." Grabbing at the clasps that held the cloak in place, Harry had more success than with the lacing, and he ripped the green material away from his shoulders. It floated to the ground between them.

Draco stopped his pacing and looked down at the cloak before returning his gaze to meet Harry again. "I didn't buy any of it. You did. I just picked it out." The voice was patronizing.

"But..." Harry blinked, unsure of whether Draco was telling the truth. When he left the robe shop, he had paid for the blue and silver outfit that he'd picked out, but this ensemble had to have cost much more. "People don't do this sort of thing to me for nothing."

Draco frowned briefly as though trying to grasp what Harry was getting at. Then he gave a bitter laugh. "Oh, right, I get it now. You think I'm paying you for sex or something?"

Harry flinched as the words which had played through his mind earlier came back to haunt him. _What does that make you? His little whore? He's going to want payment, Harry. People like Draco don't give things away -- they always expect payment._ "Well... I..."

"If I'm going to pay for it, then I can find someone much better than you, Potter."

"Sod off, Malfoy!" Harry suddenly turned away, the stinging comment twisting in his gut. He needed to get away, to be anywhere but in this room.

"If you're looking for a life-time commitment, you know I can't give you that."

Harry stopped and looked back at Draco, his mouth set in a hard line. "Then what the hell is this all about?"

"I can give you tonight."

"That's not enough. If I'm going to.... If you want...."

"Don't you dare start playing the innocent with me, Potter. Next thing you'll be telling me you're a bloody virgin."

The silence that hung between them dragged on for what seemed like an eternity. Finally Harry spoke, his voice a whisper. "Yes, that's right. I'm a bloody virgin. Now, there's something to share with your friends back in the Slytherin Common Room." With that, he turned on his heel and strode to the kitchen, slamming the door with a satisfying crash.

With the sound of the door slamming still reverberating in his ears, Draco took several hesitant steps toward the kitchen, but got no further. Instead he turned away and grabbed for his travel cloak. Quickly he pulled it over his clothes, suddenly hating what he was wearing. Retrieving his broom, he looked once more at the closed door before disappearing into the cold frosty night.

In the kitchen, Harry sat perched on the edge of the table wondering what the hell had gone wrong. How could everything have fallen to pieces so quickly? He could still feel the sensation of Draco's fingers on his body and his tongue tingled from the incredible kiss.

Closing his eyes, he tried to pluck up the courage to go back out and say he was sorry. To try and explain his question and this time to make his intentions clear.

He jumped as the outer door slammed, echoing his own gesture from minutes earlier, and he realised Draco had left. The Slytherin's absence engulfed Harry like an icy blanket and he knew he was alone in the building. Slowly he came to his feet and opened the door.

Nothing.

One broom by the door. One black travel cloak over the chair, neatly folded with the House crest visible in the firelight. It was a Slytherin badge. Carefully, Harry picked up the cloak. The material felt different, less coarse than his cloak, and he unfolded it, holding it before him.

A sad smile flickered across his face. "Stupid arse," he muttered. Surely Draco would realise he'd taken the wrong cloak. Then he would come back.

Wrapping the cloak around his shoulders, Harry sat down in the chair and waited.

********************

With surprising grace considering his current mood, Draco touched down his broom on the steps in front of Hogwarts' main entrance. The doors opened for him, recognising him as a Hogwarts student and he strode across the hallway, intent on reaching the stairs to the Slytherin dungeons before running into anybody. He had no wish to explain his presence at this late hour, least of all to Filch, or even to Snape for that matter.

He was sure there were other students still about, kissing and holding hands in dark corners, making love in some deserted classroom. Exactly what he should be doing at this very moment, if it weren't for the stupid pigheadedness of Harry Potter. How was it possible, he wondered, to want someone so badly but to hate them at the same time?

Gripping the smooth black ash handle of his broom, he stepped onto the wide staircase leading into the bowels of the castle.

"Out rather late."

Draco froze for a moment before turning towards the direction of the voice. A figure detached itself from the shadows and strolled across the tiled floor. "The same could be said for you, Weasley." 

Ron stopped by the stone banister and leaned against it. "But I'm allowed to be out. Can the same be said about you? Oh, but I forgot, you're not a Prefect are you? They clearly didn't think you could be trusted."

With an exaggerated sigh, Draco cast a disparaging look at Ron. "Who died and put you in charge?"

"Now funny you should say that." Ron smiled, a look of triumph visible in his blue eyes. "While you were pounding Harry into the floor -- isn't that what you said you were going to do? -- I was off talking to Professor Dumbledore. The very nice, but totally ineffective, Justin Finch-Fletchley has been pulled out of school, which, of course is a real shame. But it does mean the Head Boy position has become vacant."

Grey eyes turned skyward as Draco answered. "Don't tell me. They've given the job to you." He met the triumphant eyes. "I always knew Dumbledore was an idiot."

"Ten points from Slytherin for being discourteous about the Headmaster." Ron pushed himself away from the banister and moved towards Draco. "Shall we see how many more points you can lose in the next 10 minutes?"

"Not limping much tonight are we?" The sarcastic tone matched Draco's expression. "In fact, you've gone from an excellent hobble yesterday to quite the belle of the ball. What's wrong, Weasley? Forgotten the fake injury already?"

"You just can't help yourself can you, Malfoy? Two in the morning, and you aren't down in your dank dungeon. Five more points from Slytherin. Oh, and you've been out flying as well. Another five points."

Draco looked down at his Nimbus before meeting the hard stare of the Gryffindor. He matched it, giving a smirk just to make a point. "Great, you've taken your points, now why don't you go take your shiny new Head Boy badge and stick it somewhere we won't have to look at it." With that he turned and started down the stairs.

Before he had taken more than a couple of steps, Draco found himself being dragged backwards. Reaching out for the support of the banister, he tried to prevent himself from falling. The shaft of his broom caught against a step, the action pulling it from his hand. It clattered noisily down the stone staircase, lost in the darkness below. Draco stumbled, the momentum causing him to lose his footing as his right foot slipped from beneath him. His elbow cracked against the stone and he bit back a yelp of pain. He ended up sprawled on the stairs, his cloak dragged upwards, pulling hard against his throat as Ron kept a tight grip on the material.

"Don't you _ever _turn your back on me again," Ron's voice resounded through the empty hallway.

Draco scrambled back to his feet as Ron released his hold on the cloak. "Don't you _ever_ touch me again." He started to straighten the wayward garment and then realised Ron was staring at him in wide-eyed shock. It was almost as if he could see Ron's mind working wildly as if attempting to understand something.

"Oh, I do hope your house mates are still up in your little _common_ room, Malfoy." Ron's eyes narrowed, the look suddenly vindictive. "I'd love to see what they'll say when you go in there with a Gryffindor badge on your cloak."

Silently Draco glanced down at his breast and saw the Gryffindor lion staring back up at him. It gave him a moment to compose his features before he met Ron's clearly amused expression. Now he realised why the material had felt different and the fit not quite right. Inwardly he swore and cursed at his own stupidity.

"Another five points for defiling the Gryffindor badge."

"Have you finished?"

"So, who was your little assignation with then? Lavender? She's always loved your hair -- a real sucker for blonds. But wait a minute, that's a boy's cloak." Ron's expression turned to one of mocking feigned surprise. "Malfoy, are you fucking a nice wholesome Gryffindor boy? I always knew you'd be like that, with your prissy ways."

"Weasley..." Draco shot a look of venom at the new Head Boy.

"Run out of Slytherins have you?" Ron grabbed at the collar of the cloak and pulled hard. The clasp dragged across Draco's throat as Ron yanked the cloak from his shoulders, before one end ripped completely away from the material.

With a hiss of pain, Draco's hand rose quickly to his throat and what felt like a long, thin cut. He pulled the hand away and looked at his fingers to see if there was any blood. There was none, but it hurt like hell, reminding him of a parchment cut. He scowled at Ron. "Give it back."

But Ron was determined to keep the garment out of the Slytherin's reach. He stepped back and began searching the cloak for something. "Well, look at this." Ron pointed to the white name tag on the inside collar of the cloak. "The owner's put a name tag inside." Sarcasm dripped from his words.

"Give it back, Weasley." Draco repeated. He deliberately didn't reach for the garment, not wanting to give any indication of how concerned he really was about it belonging to Harry.

"Did you enjoy your dance with him earlier?"

"Is that what this little vindictive streak of yours is all about? Are you really that pissed I danced with Potter? I danced with Granger, but I have no intention of shagging her. Or do you use dancing as foreplay?"

Ron looked off into the distance; eyes widening as if he'd just received a sudden revelation. His clenched jaw worked, and when he finally spoke again, his words were full of bitterness. "Is that what it was for you then? Foreplay? After all these years who would have guessed -- you and Harry. The archetypal bitter enemies. Did you shag him? Are you both gay?"

"What?"

"You heard me. This is his cloak! " Ron shouted. Then, pausing to regain control, his voice became quieter, but the hard edge remained. "Did you fuck him and end up with the wrong cloak when you left?" Ron had stepped down to the same stair as Draco, but he still seemed to tower over the Slytherin. "Is The Boy Who Lived a little pervert as well, just like you? I should have known he wasn't straight. All that tidying up he does. He'll make someone a nice little wife one day. How long have you been fucking him, Malfoy? Weeks? Months? Does he enjoy it?"

Draco gave a little snort. "You are out of your mind, Weasel." 

"Am I? Was it your star chart he did? Did you both have a good laugh at getting me to read it? All that compatibility crap and the great sex you'd have?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about. What star charts?" Draco tried to look confused, which actually wasn't difficult because he was. Harry had never told him the outcome of Ron's readings. Now he wanted to know.

"That would be just like him not to tell you. You are _8th April 1980, born in Bristol at midnight_ I take it?" Draco shrugged. "Don't worry yourself, I can always check it up."

"If you go near my personal records I will get you thrown out of the school."

Ron tapped his own chest. "Head Boy, remember. I can go anywhere I want. You know, I should have realised something was going on. Now it all makes sense. The questions he's been asking. Picking you for his study partner. All blushes and sneaky glances across the Great Hall. He used to watch you with loathing, but not now. Did you give him the flowers and that pathetic dragon? How twee -- a dragon from a dragon. And what about the poncy clothes? I bet you picked them out." Ron smacked his forehead with his open palm. "And the hair! God, he let you cut his hair as well." He suddenly turned back to face Draco, leaning close, his face looking like something nasty was very close to him. "It's bad enough he should be like that, but to do it with you? He's got less taste then I ever credited him with."

"I think being made Head Boy has finally addled your brain." Draco deliberately folded his arms over this chest and stared at the Gryffindor. Grey eyes burned with seven years of hatred for this person. He knew he had to remain calm and detached from this argument even if all he really wanted to do was to slam his fist into Weasley's smug face. Underneath the calmness, his mind was rushing in a daze of _how did he know?_ followed closely by _what the hell will Harry think if he finds out his best friend thinks he's a pervert?_ The cloak mix-up? Star charts? _You really are a fool, Malfoy. All those years of being careful and you fuck it up in just one day!_

"You are such a sanctimonious arsehole, Weasley. Who did you shag to get those clothes?" He picked briefly at the edge of the black and scarlet robes Ron wore. "Suddenly come into some cash? Or did you sell your soul? What I do is my business, so just stay the fuck out of my way."

"Sure, Draco." Ron moaned the name, accentuating and lengthening the word as though in passion. "Of course it's your business. Do you know what would really make my day? To be there when your father finds out that his precious son is not only a homosexual, but shagging the Great Harry Potter."

"That's enough." The words came out as a hiss. He held out a hand towards the cloak, closed his eyes briefly and took a small breath. "That's my cloak and I expect you to pay to have it repaired." He saw the expression on Ron's face change at his sudden insistent tone. 

"Sure, Malfoy," Ron drawled sarcastically.

"It's mine. Look at the badge on the front. And what name tag? I don't need to use name tags. Everyone knows the Malfoy emblem." The Slytherin's voice was like ice.

Ron held up the cloth in his hands, unable to hide the surprise on his face as a Slytherin badge stared back at him from the left breast. And he knew he had seen a little white name tag on the inside of the collar. Yet there in its place was a tag he couldn't fail to recognise as the Malfoy Family emblem. With a look of fury on his face, he hurled the cloak at Draco, who caught the untidy bundle in his arms.

"You haven't heard the last of this, Malfoy." Ron raised his hand and poked a finger at the other boy. "I know about your sick little games." With each word, the finger dug into Draco's chest.

Draco grabbed at the hand, thrusting it away from his body. "Don't even think about trying to threaten me, Weasley. You aren't even in the same league. I will swat you like a fly."

Ron laughed, the sound actually shocking Draco. "Sure, Malfoy. I don't know how you changed that badge, but I'm on to you and I don't intend giving you a moment's peace." With that, he gently patted Draco's cheek a couple of times. "Now, why don't you get back down to your little Slytherin hellhole."

********************

Student rooms at Hogwarts were not supposed to be locked; Draco had been told this when Snape had finally agreed to him having his own room. But there was no way Draco was going to allow others free and unfettered access to his little private domain. On the whole, people stuck to the rules and kept out of other people's spaces, but there were always one or two who enjoyed snooping.

One of the first things he had done when acquiring the room had been to set up a series of privacy spells and proximity wards. The wards shielded the room from the rest of the castle, keeping Draco's extracurricular activities secret. The privacy spells were used to hide individual items when he wasn't in the room, keeping them away from prying eyes. The same spells worked when he was in the room as well. With a single word, he could hide things should anyone come crashing in unannounced. It didn't overly concern him that the spells were based on memory charms or that when he used them he was, in effect, depriving that person of their recollection. What were a few lost seconds to the likes of Crabbe or Goyle?

Of course, all the students in his year knew countless locking spells, but Lucius had taught him several not on the normal Hogwarts curriculum. Draco was more than happy to lock himself away behind the thick wooden door when he needed his privacy, and this was the first thing he did after returning from his confrontation with Ron Weasley. 

Fortunately, Draco had come across no one on his journey through the Slytherin corridors and as he approached the door, he intoned the spell that would transform the room into his own private world, complete with books and magical objects he wasn't prepared to share with anyone, not even his own father. The door swung open, and he entered the dimly lit room.

He stood for a moment before kicking the door shut with enough force to make objects on one of the bookcases rattle and watched in silence as a goblet rocked to and fro before tumbling to the floor with a satisfying crash.

He threw Harry's cloak onto a chair and studied the broom in his hand.

"Damn."

His much-prized Nimbus 2001.

Which his father had given to him in his second year. Which had helped Slytherin win the Quidditch Cup last year. On which he'd planned to win the Cup this year. Which he still got a thrill out of riding even after all this time.

The smooth black ash handle had been split during its fall down the stone staircase. There was now a gash running along the shaft where it had cracked open along the grain. Already the wood had warped, almost as though the magic was leaking out of the injury. One of the footrests had twisted, and the smooth metal collar was scratched and pitted. Even worse, most of the trim, neat twigs that made up the broom's carefully constructed tail were bent or broken. The smooth streamlined shape was completely ruined.

How the hell could a simple fall have caused so much damage? At best the broom should have survived completed intact. At worst he would have expected some of the outer twigs to be damaged and maybe a dent in the wood from striking the steps, but not this.

Frowning, Draco ran a practised hand over the broom trying to feel if there was any residual magical energy left from any spells that might have been cast on it. Nothing. Or rather there was most definitely magic leaking out all over the place, but that was the broom's own energy, and it's strength masked any other magical signatures. He quickly tried to block the split in the wood with an _Obsignare cavum,_ but it didn't work. Neither did _Obstruere,_ or a few more powerful Dark Magic incantations he tried. Even spells using his wand proved useless against the damage. 

Something or someone had most definitely hexed the broom. He refused to believe it could be the Weasel, who was still crap with a wand even after seven years of training, but who else had access to it? There was Harry, of course, but he was never out of Draco's sight. Maybe it had happened days ago. Could someone have gotten into his room despite all the spells he had used to protect himself? Or during Quidditch practice? He tried to remember if the broom had been left unattended at any time.

He turned to the wall and studied the calendar parchments fixed there. Maybe it was Weasley after all. It was only four weeks until the Slytherin-Gryffindor Quidditch match. Had Weasley somehow orchestrated the whole meeting on the stairs just to destroy his broom? Was this the Gryffindor's way of getting revenge because Professor Snape had confiscated Harry's broom? But why bother going to the trouble of disabling Draco's broom when Harry was hampered by having to use an old Cleansweep? He had flown rings around the Hufflepuff Seeker during their last match.

Of course, beating Hufflepuff wasn't in the same league as playing Slytherin. Harry wouldn't stand a chance against him if he still had the Nimbus. But now? It hurt to remind himself that he had never beaten the Gryffindor in a Quidditch match.

"Bugger."

Draco laid the broom on the floor and pursed his lips thoughtfully. Maybe he could talk his father into getting him a new one, but he doubted that would happen. Lucius would tell him he should be more careful and would use this as a lesson in taking care of his possessions.

Did he have enough money to buy a new broom himself? He liked people to think he was independently wealthy, but it was all 'Malfoy Money', controlled by the family, and he saw very little of it. One day, as his father was very fond of saying, it would all be Draco's, but at the moment all he had was his allowance.

So a new Nimbus or a Firebolt was out of the question unless he quickly found himself a murderous canine godfather willing to spoil him. How the hell was he going to beat Harry flying on a school broom? He could take a Nimbus from one of the other Slytherin players, but that would weaken his carefully trained team. With Gryffindor only 20 points ahead of Slytherin leading into this last game, he needed the rest of the team to be able to rack up points just in case Harry beat him to the Snitch.

Which, of course, he reminded himself, wasn't going to happen. 

He frowned thoughtfully. There was always his own Cleansweep at home. If the House Elves had looked after it, it would be better than using a school broom ridden by some first year who had no idea what they were doing. And -- his eyes widened -- there was the Firebolt he had used for his Quidditch training last summer. Surely he could persuade his father would let him use that or maybe he could sweet-talk his mother to cajoling Lucius.

Draco began to pace, mentally counting his strides as he walked back and forth across the room. What was it with Gryffindors? First Granger had dragged him onto the dance floor and accused him of having ulterior motives about Harry. True, he did, but what gave her the right to warn him off?

He hadn't realised that at some point on his pacing he had picked up a crystal sphere from one of the shelves. Nor was he aware of throwing it until it smashed into the wall, shattering into a shower of crystal shards as it impacted with the stone. Instinctively he shot his hand out as the debris dropped to the floor. The shards came to an abrupt halt, hanging in mid-air, the light refracting off their broken edges.

Then there was Weasley, the stupid git. Standing there on the staircase sounding off about other people's lifestyles. How dare the Weasel call him a pervert!

The outstretched hand suddenly moved; and the crystal shards tracked with it, zooming across the room before embedding themselves in a piece of wooden panelling with a loud thwack. Draco studied them, a look of intense satisfaction on his face. _If only that had been Weasley,_ he mused thoughtfully. _I'd just love to pin him to the wall with blades of glass._ He clenched his fist and the shards became crystal daggers pinning an all-too-lifelike representation of Ron Weasley to the wall, blood running from the many wounds, seeping into his robes.

Draco watched the image with grim satisfaction before turning his clenched fist. The daggers followed the movement, and the image screamed.

"You bastard, Weasley. How would you like me to do that to you for real?" Draco's voice was a hard hiss of retribution, eyes dark grey pits of cold ice. "What would they do if they found your blood-stained corpse in the morning?"

He watched the writhing figure for a long time. It would be so easy to send Weasley a nightmare right now. Get into his subconscious and make him experience something nasty. Maybe something with spiders? Who was it that'd told him Weasley was scared of spiders? 

"Guess what you'll see crawling across your breakfast in a few hours?"

Draco opened the clenched fist and made a movement as though wiping something away. The image of the Gryffindor disappeared, leaving the crystal shards embedded in the panel. He smirked at the new decoration and decided to leave it in place.

And finally there was Harry. What an utter farce that had turned out to be.

"Shit!" Draco pulled at the burgundy cloak that still hung round his shoulders and threw it onto the bed. It landed in an untidy mess of red and gold. Had Harry even realised his adversary had been wearing Gryffindor colours?

Draco sighed loudly and pushed a shock of blond hair from his eyes. Or that said adversary had dressed him in Slytherin colours? 

Green.

A sparkle on the bedside table caught his eyes; it was the emerald sent by his father. Draco picked it up, casting a critical eye over the stone as he turned it over and over. This had been the first time since receiving it that Draco had not carried it around with him. Surprisingly enough the sky hadn't fallen in because he'd left it here. No terrible message had arrived from his father expressing his displeasure.

In fact, life had just carried on despite the fact he had disobeyed his father. He had expected his father to be in touch about the stone, demanding to know why it hadn't been used. Once again he wondered just how far he was prepared to go with this disobedience. He remembered how he had felt when his father had come to the school before Christmas, how much Lucius' presence had meant to him -- how much it _still _meant to him. Was he really willing to forgo contact with his beloved father to have Harry? Could he have both? A relationship with his father's enemy carried on in such a way that it would not become public knowledge?

Which might not be possible after the fiasco with Weasley and the cloak. And, of course, Harry's big mouth. He'd already told Granger; how long would it be before he told Weasley and all hell broke loose? 

Maybe the only way out of this was to give Harry the stone. Give it to him and let his father _and_ Voldemort have what they wanted. The same circular argument he'd had countless times over the last few weeks ran through his mind. If he used the Portkey, Harry would be taken. If they got Harry, they would kill him. He couldn't let Harry die. But he should obey his father and use the Portkey. If he used the Portkey, et cetera, et cetera...

Round and round with no obvious answer.

Draco put the stone down with exaggerated care, as though it might break. Or could he? Could he just let Harry go? Put his life back on the course it had followed up to that stupid fucking snowstorm?

_Don't go there now, Malfoy. Not in the middle of the night when your mind plays tricks. When the darkness could creep in and influence what you do and say._

He picked up the stone again and dropped it into the drawer of the bedside table. He didn't want to look at it. Didn't want to ever see it again. Slamming the drawer shut, he dropped onto the bed and turned his attention to the burgundy cloak, which lay in a crumpled heap beside him. Weasley had been right -- he was a priss and there was no way he could not pick the bloody thing up and hang it properly. With great resolve, he decided to see how long he could leave it there. Instead, he got back to his feet and crossed the room, back to the chair where he had left Harry's black cloak earlier.

The material had been torn when Weasley had ripped the cloak from his neck, and the two parts of the clasp hung loosely from one side. He should, he decided, be grateful he hadn't been wearing his own cloak. If Weasley had tried the same trick, the material would not have given way and the damage to his neck would have been much worse. 

Draco crossed to a mirror and looked at the injury. Fingers prodded at the thin red mark, which ran from below his left ear to his throat, and he debated whether to heal it. He'd used so much magic in the room in the last ten minutes he was surprised the wards had held and that no one had come rushing to find out what was going on. Knowing his luck, a simple healing spell would be the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back and cause everything to come crashing down upon him.

No, he decided. He would leave it as it was and get the nurse to heal it. Let everyone see what their new Head Boy had done on his first night.

Harry's cloak was a different matter. If Harry turned up at Gryffindor Tower with a ruined cloak, too many questions would be asked and it would give Weasley the ammunition he needed to accuse Harry of whatever transgressions he believed his supposed best friend had done. Harry was a hopeless liar -- rather his lies were spectacular, but he always coloured up when he wasn't telling the truth. It was safer that he heard of the confrontation with Weasley from someone else. Draco needed Harry to walk into the Gryffindor common room with an intact cloak and an innocent expression when Weasley looked to see what his friend was wearing.

He sat down on the chair and set about repairing the damage to both fabric and clasp.

As for the whole fiasco at the half-giant's cottage...

What the hell had come over Harry?

"I need to know if you're serious!" Fiddling with the clasp, he muttered the words Harry had asked him a little over an hour ago and gave a bitter little laugh. "Serious -- bollocks!"

Draco ran a hand over the black material, feeling the texture under his fingertips. He'd had such big plans when he'd sat here in this room, in front of the fire, 24 hours earlier. Yet it was all shattered, as the glass sphere had been, thanks first to Harry and then Weasley.

He didn't consider himself gay. In fact he didn't consider he'd experienced enough of life to be sure of anything. Okay, he'd had several relationships throughout his years at Hogwarts, including gropes in deserted classrooms. But his only real sexual encounters had taken place during holidays at home. Out of the two, the one with Alex Palmer, his Quidditch coach, had been the biggest turn on. But the straight relationship with his tutor Stacey Cooper had been fun as well. It was a shame it had been cut short when his father had found out Stacey was letting him read Muggle literature. But Harry....

Oh, but Harry!

Pulling the black cloak around his bare shoulders, Draco dropped down onto a chair. He had tried many times over the weeks since New Year to work out why he was so fascinated by the four-eyed git, and when that fascination had turned in to a need to physically possess him. After all, it wasn't that Harry was beautiful in the traditional sense of male beauty. The Gryffindor had so many faults -- his untidy black hair for one.

But, Draco reminded himself, Harry's hair was just wonderful to touch. Like burying his hands in black silk.

And Harry's mouth was a little too big for his oval face.

But the lips on that mouth were so sensual to look at ... to touch ... to kiss. He wanted to feel that mouth around him, the way it had taken in his tongue earlier. To look down and see that dark head; to feel those lips move over him, surround him, caress him, and bring him to fulfilment.

He shifted slightly on the chair, feeling a familiar sensation grow in his groin as the sexual frustration from earlier threatened to return.

_No! Don't go there, Malfoy. Think about something else! What do you HATE about him?_

What about his voice? Vindictive, spiteful, full of contempt. Remember how squeaky it became when it broke? Harry had sounded like he'd had a permanently sore throat.

But now?

Now it had turned into something deep and almost soothing, even when full of rage.

_You're back with the mouth again, Malfoy..._

What about those glasses? Harry was always fiddling with them -- they would slide down his nose when he bent over his books, or get knocked askew. They made him look awkward and nerdy, hardly the Gryffindor Hero. How could he go fighting the Dark Lord's minions if the bloody things kept getting knocked off?

Besides, they hid Harry's eyes. Whoever heard of green eyes like that? Shouldn't people with black hair have brown eyes?

But if he looked again at the shocking green, Draco knew he would be pulled kicking and screaming into them. And when Harry glared at him in anger, the colour made his stomach flip.

Then there was the lightly muscled torso -- smooth except for the line of hair running from his navel, the taut abdomen and the sensual curve of his hips...

_ENOUGH!_

He dragged himself out of the confines of the cloak and stormed across the room to his bed. The hands that picked up his burgundy cloak were shaking slightly as he reached for a hanger, shoving the garment into the wardrobe with much more force than necessary.

Flinging himself down onto the bed, he tried to banish the images that played tantalizingly in his mind and to focus on the _hurt _he was feeling.

Hurt because the black-haired boy assumed he would tell people what Harry had said. After all, it was _Harry_ who had told someone about their budding relationship. Draco had told no one. Not, he reminded himself, that there was anyone amongst the Slytherin population he would _want _to tell. At least Harry had Granger to talk to. If only he had someone as well, someone to confide in. 

And had Harry been serious? Was he really a virgin? The thought caused a little shiver to run though him.

He'd assumed Harry had at least _some _experience. There had been all the talk about him and Lisa Turpin, the Ravenclaw girl. By all the accounts had been a very physical relationship. And surely Harry had fooled around with his dorm mates even if it hadn't lead to anything.

So, how far had Harry gone with Turpin? Did Harry mean nothing had actually happened and he really _was_ a virgin in every sense? Or was he saying he was a virgin as far as gay relationships were concerned?

Well, whatever Harry's love life had entailed, Draco wasn't planning on getting involved AGAIN. If it hadn't been over when he'd walked out of Hagrid's, then the incident with Weasley must have finished it for sure. He couldn't go back again. Couldn't risk what the Weasel might do either to him or to Harry. He knew how much Weasley hated the whole Malfoy family, so it wouldn't surprise him if Weasley were bitter enough to carry through on that threat to tell Lucius. His father expected him to marry and have loads of little Malfoys to carry on the family name.

Let someone else have Harry's virginity; what Draco wanted more than anything at that moment was some sleep.

He turned onto his front and pulled a pillow over his head.

Oh, and a decent replacement broom.

And, of course, Weasley's head on a golden platter.

********************

_He was standing in a room lit by a strange glow, the source of which he couldn't fathom. The floor was covered with tiles -- cold under his bare feet -- and the walls were of stone. He wondered if he was still at Hogwarts. There was a window, high up on the wall through which a thin sliver of moonlight spilled across the room._

_In the centre of the room there were two people, both dressed in black robes. One was kneeling. The other stood over the first, a hand on the shoulder of the kneeling man. He bent low to talk to the kneeling man, close to his ear. The moonlight fell across the lower half of the man's face and he could see the mouth moving as he spoke._

_As the man spoke, the moonbeam picked up the sounds. Each word left a bleeding red patch on the silver beam. They rode down the beam, collecting in a growing puddle on the floor._

_He watched as the puddle grew, spreading across the floor, slowly devouring the markings that covered the tiles._

_The puddle reached the kneeling man, seeping into his robes, bleaching out the black where it touched and turning the fabric blood red. The robe suddenly flared brightly, as though on fire, and in that light he saw two others watching from the shadows. Watching in satisfied silence as the kneeling figure tried to rise to his feet despite being trapped in the morass of liquid words._

_As the figure struggled, his hood dropped back. Blond hair shone in the moonlight, turning slowly red as the bloodstained moonlight touched him._

_He screamed. "Draaaacccccooooooooo..........."_

********************

Harry woke with a start, staring about him in momentary confusion. 

It took him a moment to get his bearings and he blinked a couple of times trying to clear the disorientation.

He was slumped in a chair in a room lit by the dying embers of a fire.

With some difficulty he struggled free of the black cloak that attempted to hold him prisoner, and staggering sleepily, came to his feet. His glasses tumbled from the arm of the chair, bouncing out of sight. His clothes were tight about his body and he tugged briefly at his trousers in an attempt to free himself. Still half asleep, he studied the waistband, trying to find the zip. Finally his fingers found the twin lacings and, muttering a few choice words, he struggled to release them. Eventually both laces came free and he tossed them to the floor before attempting to tug off the trousers. 

Harry finally battled the tight trousers down to his knees and paused for a breath. He would, he decided, kill the person who had foisted this ridiculous clothing on him. Returning to the fray, he lifted a foot from the floor to pull the garment free, wobbled precariously on one leg for a moment before falling back onto the chair. He remained here, staring absently at his right ankle, which was still trapped, caught up in the material. Finally he realised the problem was he still had his boots on. Once he managed to remove them, the trousers came off with hardly any effort at all. Tossing the garment onto the floor in front of him, he studied it, wondering why everything seemed to be blurred.

Unable to fathom the problem, Harry shrugged and gave a sigh. "Oh well." He removed the tunic, letting it fall from his shoulders to the chair before fiddling with the buttons on his shirt. He succeeded at unbuttoning three of the tiny buttons before giving up.

He sat in the chair for a moment, eyes closed and elbows resting on his thighs. Then rousing again with a jolt, he pushed his hair out of his eyes and staggered toward the bedroom. He paused briefly beside the table littered with his study supplies. He should find a piece of paper and write down what he remembered about the dream. Picking up a quill, he stared at it for a moment, rocking slightly with sleepiness. The quill fell from his fingers and he continued his journey to the waiting warm bed.

As he buried himself under the blankets all memory of the dream disappeared, gone forever along with the sensation that he knew everyone who had been in that room. All he would remember in the morning was that he had dreamed of Draco.

********************

The first thing he did when he walked into the Great Hall was to look towards the Gryffindor table. He didn't need to search for Harry because where he sat was ingrained on Draco's memory. To look had become an autonomic reaction, like breathing. And Harry had always responded by looking back.

Today it was different. Today he looked deliberately and with forethought. He had woken wondering if Harry had come back to Hogwarts and, if so, what Weasley's reaction to him had been.

The seat was empty and Draco couldn't find words for the feeling that sent his stomach plunging to the floor. It could be, he reasoned, that Harry didn't want breakfast or would be down later. It was, after all, a Sunday and breakfast was always a more leisurely affair on that day.

A quick casual glance over the gathered masses showed that about half the school was there, some students looking the worse for wear after the previous night's activities. In fact, he was the first of the senior Slytherins to arrive and none of Harry's Happy Campers from Gryffindor were about either. Of course, that could mean Granger, Thomas, Finnigan and Longbottom were currently stopping Harry and the Weasel from strangling each other.

Draco sat and began to gather breakfast items. He wasn't really hungry and ate his bowl of cereal without thinking, his mind mulling over entering the Great Hall. How many times had he searched out that familiar black head over the years?

_Thirty days hath September, April, June and November. _The little Muggle poem his grandmother had taught him ran through his mind. _All the rest have thirty-one, excepting February alone, which has but twenty-eight days clear and twenty-nine in each leap year._

He picked up his cup of tea and stared absently into the distance as he sipped the hot liquid. How many leap years had there been since he started at Hogwarts? 1996 had been one, so that made 1992 a leap year as well.

"Morning, Draco." A hand brushed slowly across his back, and he looked at Blaise. "We all missed you last night. What happened?"

Draco smiled at her. "Blaise dear, you know I never kiss and tell." She sat next to him and he was grateful that she immediately began talking to Milena who had clearly come up from the Slytherin dungeons with her. The last thing he needed at this moment was to put up with the gabble of these two witches.

"Have you got a quill?" he suddenly asked the two girls.

"What do you want a quill for?" Blaise stared at him as if he had asked for every Galleon she possessed.

"I think I've got one." Milena began rummaging in her capacious bag and eventually came up with a small stub of pencil. She quickly wiped it off on a napkin and looked at him apologetically. "Sorry, this is all I have with me. Will this do?"

Draco shrugged. "Yes, thanks. Have you got a piece of parchment in there as well?"

Milena obliged again, but Blaise looked down her nose at the crumpled piece of parchment. "I hope you're not going to write some important letter on that."

"Who's writing letters?" Two chairs on the opposite side of the table scraped noisily across the stone floor. Draco looked up as Crabbe and Goyle sat down and immediately began dragging dishes of food towards them.

"I'm not writing a letter. I just want to work out some figures." 

"Have you run out of allowance?" Crabbe frowned at Draco. "I've got some spare if you want."

"No, I'm okay." Normally Draco would have come up with some sarcastic response to such a statement, but his interest had already been distracted and he turned his attention to the sheet of parchment, hoping that if he kept quiet people would leave him in peace.

_Thirty days hath September... _Draco began listing numbers. 

30 -- September 1991

31 -- October

30 -- November

31 -- December

31 -- January 1992

29 -- February

31 -- March

30 -- April

31 -- May

30 -- June

He quickly added the figures up -- 304 including the leap year day. Which meant in his first year at Hogwarts he'd come to breakfast 304 times (give or take the few when he hadn't bothered or went home for holidays).

That meant to date (two leap years, four not, plus 168 days since the previous September) he had come into this room, looked for Harry and then sat at this table for breakfast 1820 times. Absently he drew a circle round and round the number several times. He would have to check his Arithmancy books and see if the numbers meant anything. Not that the figure meant anything. To use it in Arithmancy he needed the precise number.

He started jotting down holidays and then, with a huff of annoyance he dropped the pencil onto the table and began chiding himself. _You sad, sad person, Malfoy. You've just spent the last ten minutes working out how many times you've sat at breakfast looking out for Harry Bloody Potter! What next? How many potions we've prepared together?_

"What happened to your neck, Draco?"

Pulled from his reverie, Draco blinked. "Sorry?"

Goyle was waving a piece of toast in his general direction. "You've got a cut on your neck and it looks a bit bruised."

Draco's hand went up to the cut, which he had temporarily forgotten. "It's nothing."

"Did it happen in the Astronomy Tower?" Crabbe sniggered. "Who were you snogging up there?"

"Vincent," he shot a hard look at his friend and then finished in a pleasant voice, "shut up." He handed the pencil back and folded the parchment in half then in half again before tucking it into his trouser pocket. "I need to see Pomfrey."

Deliberately ignoring sniggers from his fellow Slytherins, Draco pushed his chair back and got to his feet. He stopped, one hand on the back of the chair as he caught sight of the two people standing by the doors. Granger was there, next to Weasley and both were looking at him. Weasley was smirking, but Granger just glared and Draco knew that Harry had definitely not returned to Gryffindor Tower.

********************

**_Harry's Journal -- Sunday 15th February 1998 _**

Now that went well, didn't it!

Sunday morning and I'm at Hagrid's cottage. Alone! When I came here last night did I expect to wake up alone? The answer is probably 'no'. Did I expect anything to happen between him and me? Probably 'yes'. Am I upset at how things turned out? Definitely 'yes'. Would I handle it the same way if given another chance?

Bloody right! I would have asked the same question, but the discussion afterward could have been handled better. Surely I had the right to expect an answer to a perfectly reasonable question! I need to know what I'm getting myself into here.

I had a dream last night, but I don't remember any of it apart from the fact he was in it. I wanted him to be sitting in that chair when I woke up, just as he was six weeks ago. If I'm _really_ honest, I wanted him in bed with me this morning more than anything. When I was lying there on my own, it suddenly occurred to me how lonely I am. Not lonely for friends -- I have friends -- Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Seamus, Neville, Dean, Colin ... the list is long. But this is a different loneliness, it's wanting to have someone next to you when you wake up in the morning -- wake up anywhere and any when for that matter -- to have someone who is just THERE. Who doesn't keep asking questions or making demands.

But why would I think he could do that? Be that person? Didn't he say he couldn't give me a lifetime commitment and he could only give me last night? Doesn't he just piss me off all the time?

We have NOTHING in common. I don't even know what his likes and dislikes are, do I? His father is a Death Eater for fuck's sake.

Yet I am saying I want to wake up next to him and I couldn't even cope with what he did yesterday. Why is it I can face down Voldemort without flinching, but I can't deal with Draco wanting to kiss me? Does that make me a complete and utter fool? I'm not surprised he left and I'm pretty sure he won't be coming back this time.

_But _if he did and he said the same things -- that he could only give me this one time -- would I take it?

At the moment I'd take anything. A day. Just an hour. Even a few minutes.

Anything.

********************

Setting his quill aside, Harry blew gently on a small red inkblot that marred the creamy-white parchment. He picked up the half-eaten piece of toast and took a bite as he studied the wording on the piece of paper with a critical eye.

Of course, his journal was safely locked away in Gryffindor tower, but he had felt the need to write -- to get his thoughts down on paper right now rather than when he got back to his room.

His thoughts.

He glanced over them again and sighed. "Get a grip, Harry, this is a load of rubbish. Who needs a bloody journal anyway?"

Screwing the sheet into a ball, he tossed it onto the table and got to his feet.

********************

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, I have two announcements for you today." The sound of Professor Dumbledore's voice drifted from the Great Hall and was just audible outside. Draco was half-listening, but his attention was on the hand clamped firmly around his upper arm, dragging him towards a quiet spot in the shadows of one of the giant staircases. "The first is that our Head Boy, Mr Finch-Fletchley has..."

"I'm trying to listen to these very important announcements." Draco finally pulled free as Hermione came to a halt. It felt like her fingers had marked his arm.

"Justin's parents have moved abroad; they wanted him to go with them so he's been pulled out of school."

Draco snorted, "He could have stayed, I know people whose parents are out of the country." He looked pointedly at her. "And I know people I wish _would_ leave the country."

"Well, Justin has gone with them. Ron is..."

"Going to be Head Boy," he quickly interrupted. "I had the pleasure of his Headboyness several hours ago."

The surprised expression on Hermione's face made it clear she had no idea what had happened a few yards from where they were currently standing. "Oh." She quickly regained her composure. "Headboyness? Is that a word?"

"Of course. It's right there in the dictionary after 'moron with a power fixation'. The Redoubtable Mr Weasley decided he didn't like the fact I was out late. I don't expect he's had time to deduct all the points taken for my supposed misdemeanours or to tell anyone of our little altercation right here." Draco tilted his head to one side, pulling the collar of his shirt and jumper down a little to make the red mark on his neck more visible. It had looked angrier this morning and, Goyle observations had been correct, his skin had bruised blue/black along the line. "I was just on my way to see the nurse when you dragged me out here."

Hermione peered at the mark, a frown marking her features. She actually managed to look concerned. "Are you saying Ron did that?" 

"We had a ... difference of opinion. He grabbed my cloak and pulled it off. The clasp came loose and cut me. Now, what do you want? I have a very busy day ahead of me."

She folded her arms across her chest -- not quite so ample out of the ball gown Draco mused -- and her expression changed from one of concern to that of irritation. "Where's Harry?"

_Brilliant, _Draco thought, _now I'm supposed to keep track of him as well. _"I have no idea. Lost him have you?"

"You know perfectly well what I'm on about. He was supposed to meet you last night."

"He was?" Draco gave her one of his most innocent expressions. 

"Don't get smart with me. You _asked_ me to get his things." 

"That doesn't mean we had some sort of secret assignation. Maybe it was just another of my little japes -- sending him on a wild goose chase."

"Malfoy!"

"Look, Granger. If Potter is out after curfew, then that is up to him. He's a big boy now. I am not his keeper."

She took a step closer. "I warned you yesterday about hurting him."

"Don't try to threaten me again, Granger. You're just Head Girl, nothing else," he warned in a very quiet voice, grey eyes blazing. "What is it with you and Weasley? You threatened me yesterday, then he attacked me, and now you're at it again. What next? Are you going to arrange for all of Potter's little friends to beat me up behind the broom shed?" He smiled carefully and very deliberately, his eyes never wavering from her face; but there was no humour in the expression. He was surprised she didn't look away; most people would have. "Tell me, Granger, what do you and the Weasel have to do for punishment? Detention like the rest of us?"

Hermione studied him for a moment. He could see she was pondering whether to say something else. What was it she wanted to tell him but was so unsure of?

"I need to know if he's okay."

The two silently watched each other, both wary after their years of mistrust and loathing. But they now seemed to finally have something in common -- a black-haired, green-eyed boy called Harry. Granted, they'd always had him in common, but now it was different. Now it was all about concern. Realising he was chewing his bottom lip, he stopped immediately and gave her one of his best 'superior' expressions. "I guess he spent the night at that place of Hagrid's." 

"Okay. That's all I wanted to know. Are you going back there?" 

"What?" He tried to hide his surprise at her question. "Why the hell would I do that?"

"Do you have anything better to do?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact I do. I told you, I'm not his keeper." 

"No, I guess you're not. Just remember what I said yesterday." With that she turned on her heel and headed back for the Great Hall. 

Draco watched her retreating back and gave an exasperated sigh. If having a relationship with Harry meant dealing with his friends, then staying well clear of him was by far the better option.

********************

"Mr Malfoy. Madam Pomfrey told me you were here. Not seriously injured, I trust."

Draco looked up from buttoning his shirt to find Professor Dumbledore standing at the door to the hospital ward. "It was just a cut, sir," he finally answered.

"Splendid, splendid." The Professor crossed the room and sat down on the chair beside the bed Draco currently occupied. Draco was suddenly aware of how young he must look as he sat on the edge of the bed, legs hanging freely. "You left the Great Hall before my announcements."

"Granger wanted to talk to me, sir."

"Yes, of course. No doubt she has told you about Mr Weasley."

Draco nodded. "He told me himself."

"So I understand. Professor Snape also tells me your broom has been damaged."

Draco didn't try to hide his surprise. Had Snape taken it upon himself to tell Dumbledore this so quickly? The Potions Master had turned up at his room not long after he'd collapsed back on the bed and hidden his head under the pillow. Someone, Snape told him, had reported a disturbance and Draco had been more than happy to feed his Head of House a slightly truncated version of events, worded to make it sound like Weasley had completely lost it. The look on Snape's face as he had picked up the broken broom had surprised him. It had been one of confusion and then concern as he had asked for permission to take the broom away.

"Yes sir, it got dropped," he told the Headmaster.

"Hmmm. I don't suppose it is repairable?"

"No sir." Draco hated talking to Dumbledore. The old man always talked in riddles, expecting everyone to operate on his own strange wavelength. And surely if the Headmaster had spoken to Snape he would already know the condition of the Nimbus.

"What a pity. Well, I'm sure you can find a nice school broom down in the sheds."

"I thought I might get my own broom from home."

"Well, that is up to you. You have my permission to pick out a school broom and keep hold of it for as long as you need to. Here." He held out a small square piece of parchment.

Draco took it and studied it for a few seconds. "This is a Hogsmeade pass."

"Is it now?" Dumbledore rummaged around in the voluminous pockets of his robe. "I know I have it somewhere. I wrote it this morning. Would you like a Sherbet Lemon?" He held out a wrapped sweet.

Draco had been about to refuse it, but the old man gave a smile and mouthed 'go on'. He was immediately transported back to his childhood and a similar expression on his grandmother's face when she gave him treats forbidden by his father. He took it. "Thank you." 

"Have the bag, there are a few left. You might want to share them with someone else." Before Draco could refuse, the bag was thrust into his hands, along with a second piece of parchment. "There, that's for the broom."

The parchment instructed Madam Hooch to release into Draco's care 'one school broom'. The old man smiled. "Now, I suggest you go and get on with things. The weather is going to be wet later."

"Yes sir."

"And I have to meet someone." The Headmaster came to his feet. "Draco, when you've finished with your plans for today I like you to come and see me."

"Later?"

"Perhaps after dinner."

Draco finally nodded and held out the Hogsmeade pass, but Dumbledore was already heading for the door.

"No, no, my dear boy. Keep it. We don't want you running foul of Mr Weasley again do we? Have a nice day."

Draco stared for a moment at the closed door and shook his head in both wonderment and disbelief. Granger, and now Dumbledore. Gryffindors! Each and every one of them was clearly barking mad.

********************

"I got here as soon as I could."

Albus Dumbledore took the proffered hand, shaking it. "Welcome back, my boy. I'm pleased you managed to make it so quickly."

"Your owl sounded urgent. Plus the news. Is it true?"

"Unfortunately yes, although Cornelius Fudge seems hell-bent on making sure the general populous are kept completely in ignorance. He's put a complete news blackout on the whole incident." The two men left the entrance hall and started down a corridor, which would lead to the staff wing. They made an odd looking pair -- Dumbledore in his traditional robes, his visitor who could have passed easily for a Muggle. "The teachers know, of course, but I haven't told any of the children yet. You can imagine how they will react to finding out that Voldemort's forces attacked the Parliament building at Stonehenge and that they killed five of the Council Aurors who where guarding the buildings. I think most of them are too young to understand the significance of Voldemort stealing the Hallows Capstone, however." 

The younger man shook his head. "How in Merlin's name did they manage to remove it? It's supposed to be protected by incantations and shields which are unbreakable."

"Yes, ancient magic was built in when the Parliament was created over a thousand years ago. The fact it has been taken will cause great consternation when word gets out. It has been the one constant in all things. Even during the dark times, the Stone has worked its magic over our world, helping to shield it from prying Muggle eyes. For Voldemort to risk so much to take it..." Dumbledore shook his head. "And, of course, the message he left about Harry."

"Does he know?"

"Not yet. I realise now that we should have begun this many months ago. Harry needs special tuition and you are the person to do this. I will help, of course, but for me to train him would be too obvious." The Headmaster stopped, halting his companion with a hand on his arm. "But no one else must know. Not even Harry's friends -- or your friends for that matter."

"I understand, Albus. I won't let either you or him down."

"There is more at stake here than the three of us, my boy. Voldemort has been quiet over the last 12 months. But now he has played his hand and I wonder..." He stopped as a door slammed and a figure entered the corridor. The man was dressed in teacher's robes, open down the front to reveal much more casual clothes underneath. His head was bowed over an open book.

He stopped with a start as he realised he was not alone in the corridor. Brown eyes met Dumbledore's. "Headmaster, I wanted...." The words died on his lips as he met the face of Dumbledore's companion. 

"Hello, Remus." Sirius Black grinned at his childhood friend and grabbed the man in a strong bear hug. "It's been a long time."

********************

**_Sunday 15th February 1998: About 10am ... Hagrid's cottage ..._**

The water was too hot and it cascaded from the shower in a hard spray. Harry stood very still under the onslaught, letting the daggers of water drive into his skull, taking the edge off the headache he had woken up with and which still lingered now. With eyes closed, he moved slightly, allowing the massaging jets to find another tender area and do their work. Water tumbled down his face, his shoulders, and his body; hot enough to turn his skin pink where it initially touched.

With an audible sigh, he moved his head again, letting the water pound onto his neck. The force of the water parted his dark hair, allowing access to the sensitive area where his spine joined his skull. If he tried hard enough he could still feel Draco's fingertips against his flesh from that moment in the robe shop when the Slytherin had run his fingers up Harry's spine and into his hair. 

Harry swallowed; could he still feel the pressure of Draco's hands on his face? Or the way those fingers had swirled against his belly, tracing the lines of the tattoo before pushing under his shirt? The thoughts caused a tightening in the pit of his stomach, which slowly spread downwards. A flutter of pleasure teased at his mind, making him feel a little light-headed.

He turned and let the water run across his face as though the sharp points could drive away the feeling. He hadn't expected Draco to kiss him like that. Worse, he hadn't expected to react to the kiss the way he had. Even if he never, ever spoke to Draco again, that kiss would be amongst the highlights of his life.

And what about the way Draco's fingers had felt when they had touched him? It had sent a jolt of what he could only describe as ecstasy running through his body. The sensation had cascaded from the point of contact, up through his chest and down into his groin.

It had been that completely unfamiliar sensation that had made him stop Draco.

When it came to sex, Harry had been through the adolescent problems of getting turned on by most things (brooms and Quidditch especially). Dean had fast become the supplier of Muggle magazines of a 'certain' type, which were passed around quite freely (only to be confiscated when some had been discovered during a routine spot-check of the dormitories). Looking back with his current knowledge, he realised that pictures of both guys and girls had turned him on. The significance of that was now obvious to him. But, damn it! He hadn't expected to feel sexually attracted to Draco Malfoy!

It was clear as well that Draco knew what he was doing, while Harry had no real idea apart from the vivid memories of the video Dudley had shown him and, of course, some of the discussions with his dorm mates. It wasn't that he was revolted by the idea of touching someone else; it fact he was a very tactile person and enjoyed being touched. It was more that he didn't really know what to do or what to expect. He was sure he could take hold of Draco and ... well, he'd done it to himself, so why should it be any different? He even thought he could take Draco into his mouth, though at the moment he couldn't imagine what it would feel like. In fact, he thought he was okay with everything except... He realised he was clenching his buttocks and quickly tried to relax. What if Draco wanted to do that? What if Draco expected _him_ to do that?

He grabbed the sponge and squeezed shower gel over it. The smell of citrus and rosemary wafted up and he began to soap his body, spreading the foam over his skin. They really did need to talk about so many things if this was going to go any further, Harry decided. Both of them had too much at stake to just drop haphazardly into any form of relationship, whether it be one-night-stands or something longer lasting.

Hermione had been right when she had told him there would be people who wouldn't understand a relationship between him and another boy. And now that she knew the boy was Draco, he was sure she would be even more vigorous in her concerns. The last thing he wanted was to be some sort of leader, but people did expect him to play the part. The previous night's charade proved that. If he had to face up to Voldemort, he'd rather do it on his own than leading an army.

What would people like Dumbledore and Snape think if he went up to them and said, "By the way, I'm gay and my current boyfriend is Draco Malfoy." Harry blanched at the prospect. What the hell would Sirius think? His godfather might now be a free man since Pettigrew had finally confessed, but how would he feel about his best friend's only son not being straight?

And then there was Draco's father -- he was most definitely one of the people Hermione warned about. Harry tried to picture the look on Lucius Malfoy's face when he heard the news that his precious son had been kissing a boy last night -- and not just any boy, but Harry Potter. Lucius _was _a Death Eater, whether Draco knew or cared, and Harry was therefore, by definition, his enemy.

Thoughts of impending doom were temporarily forgotten as Harry ran his hand over and around his groin, soapy fingers moving easily over his body. For once he realised he was enjoying the breath-taking feeling of touching himself. There was none of the usual embarrassment as his fingers lingered longer than really necessary. Normally he would have washed himself quickly, moving on to other parts of his anatomy, but this morning it felt good to be aware of himself.

He wiped the sponge across his chest, feeling the texture against his skin. Everything felt much more sensitive than usual and he suddenly realised his whole body felt more receptive. The hot water splashed down in stinging bursts, playing on his nipples. He'd never noticed the feeling before -- how the pit-pat of water made them hard and responsive. He wiped the sponge across them again, letting out a little gasp at the stimulating touch that floated into him. Looking down at himself, he was amazed to see that that both nipples were puckered and hard and he ran a fingertip over one, before pinching it slightly. This time the gasp was louder as a bolt of pleasure flashed through him.

The sponge dropped from his hand as he marvelled at the sensation. Would it hurt so much just to reach down and touch himself? Especially here in the privacy of this place where he wouldn't be disturbed by someone crashing in. He sighed as memories of Draco's kiss trickled into his mind, filling it with images and emotions. 

The feel of that mouth. The way it had moved against his. And the most important and incredible sensation -- that of someone else's tongue inside him ... in his mouth. A hand dropped down and wrapped around himself, stroking quickly. He knew he wouldn't last long, and he came quickly, biting down on his lip to stop his cries even though he was alone.

With a shuddering breath he closed his eyes and leaned against the wall for a moment, letting the water continue washing over him -- washing away the evidence -- while he waited for his trembling body to calm down. He let out a little laugh at the fact that for the first time in his life he didn't feel ashamed or awkward about masturbation or about touching himself. He clearly had something to thank Draco for after all.

Feeling more than a little pleased with himself, Harry smiled as he stretched under the flow of water, allowing himself one final cleansing moment. His body felt good -- lithe and warm -- and he raised his arms above his head, slowly turning under the hot water enjoying the feeling of the water on his skin. Another barrier from his childhood had finally been broken down for him and he realised Privet Drive and all the torment of living there was slowly being eroded away, left behind in the cupboard he had spent so many years in. He didn't need to listen to Uncle Vernon's bigoted views on the world or Aunt Petunia's hatred of her sister. Or even Aunt Marge telling him what a useless waste of space both he and his father were. He didn't need them or their ideas of what was right or wrong. 

He turned off the tap and the steam, which had shrouded him, began to dissipate. He shook his head, the dark hair settling in wet rattails around his contented face, the water running from it to join the other droplets covering his body. He reached for the shower curtain and pulled it back, a hand moving automatically to the towel rail.

The towel was missing.

Harry growled in annoyance, wondering where he had left it. Pushing the tendrils of wet hair from his eyes, he stepped from the shower onto the floor, feet leaving wet puddles where he stood.

The pool of water at his feet continued to grow as he froze to the spot, unable to move. He was being watched.

It took him a moment to compose himself, but finally he held out a hand for the towel he could see in Draco Malfoy's hand. A torrent of emotions whipped through his mind -- _He's come back. How long has he been watching? Did he see me...? Had he read the crumpled piece of parchment on the table? God, I'm naked._

_He's come back._

Dressed in a teal shirt and black trousers, Draco didn't move from his place against the doorjamb, the relaxed posture completely belying the jumble of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. The only telltale sign of his true feelings was the fact the hand holding the towel was clenched so tightly the knuckles were white.

Grey eyes raked over the naked, wet boy before him and Draco was sure he had forgotten to how to breathe. This was the first time he had ever seen Harry undressed. In fact, he reminded himself, yesterday in the robe shop had been the first time he had ever seen him without a shirt on. Yet here Harry stood in the light that streamed in from the window, the rays of the morning sun turning each droplet of water into a shimmering gem on Harry's skin.

He watched, enthralled by the sight, awed by how striking Harry was. Quidditch might have given them similar builds, but the Gryffindor was a little fleshier and his skin tone a couple of shades darker than his own. Standing there shimmering in the sunlight, Harry looked almost elfin or like some ethereal water sprite. Jet-black wet hair fell heavily, almost touching his shoulders, framing the all too familiar face, made different and somehow more innocent looking by the lack of glasses.

Water ran down the lightly muscled torso, little rivulets running over the shimmering Gryffindor colours of the tattoo around his navel, down and down to the floor. Draco watched as the chest moved with each breath, almost able to sense the way the skin stretched over the trim frame. Even the slightly rounded contours of Harry's hips seemed to be just perfect.

He continued his appraising look by following down the slightly parted legs. There was a scar on the left, which stretched from mid-thigh to knee and Draco wondered how Harry had gotten it. It started on the outside of the knee and finished on the inner thigh and, like that thin line of hair running down from Harry's navel, the scar was almost like an arrow pointing the way to his hips.

Harry's stance intrigued him as well. Left hand held out for the towel, while the right hung loosely in front of him, as though trying to cover himself without wanting to make it look too obvious. Draco's lip curled slightly as he wondered what Harry would think if he realised he wasn't really covering himself at all. Harry's feet were planted firmly on the ground just as one would expect of a Gryffindor Hero, Draco decided, but the toes were curled slightly, an outward sign of the boy's internal tension.

Of course, Draco had taken in all this in a matter of seconds and he allowed his gaze to move back up the body before meeting those green eyes again. The hand still reached out for the towel.

"You came back." Harry finally found his voice again. He thought for a moment about turning away, but decided Draco was not going to faze him. _Let him stare all he wants, _Harry decided, _I am not going to let him get me all shy and self-conscious._ His arms dropped to his sides and he met Draco's eyes, hoping he looked more self-assured than he actually felt.

Draco gave the tiniest of shrugs. "Yes." The voice was very quiet, almost soothing. Yes, he'd come back. Despite all his self-analysis earlier, all his personal recriminations for continually being drawn back time and again to Harry, all the reasons why he _shouldn't _be here, he _had_ come back. How many times had he told Harry he would not ask him again? How many times had he told _himself _that he wouldn't come back? Draco had lost count. Yet here he was with the dark haired boy yet again.

But the one thing he did know was that being here had nothing to do with Granger, or Weasley, or Dumbledore. And he wasn't going to tell Harry about Weasley being made Head Boy, or their fight. He wanted Harry to himself for the day. The Happy Harry Gang could have him back later.

God, he wanted Harry so much it hurt.

"I took your cloak yesterday. I didn't think it would look good for you to turn up at Hogwarts wearing one with a Slytherin crest on it. It might give people the wrong idea."

Harry wanted to say he had noticed, that he had something else to wear back to school, but this was a gesture from Draco and Harry knew to accept it for what it was. "Thanks," he finally managed to speak, even though his mouth felt very, very dry. "Do you want to wait out there?" His head nodded in the direction of the lounge. "I won't be a minute."

"No."

The strength of that one word almost made Harry gasp. And he saw the look in those eyes change to the same one that had been there the previous night when Draco was kissing him. Predatory. There was also a faint flush across Draco's cheeks. Not a blush of unease, but a flush of desire. He tried to swallow. "I won't be long."

"I want to watch."

"I...." The single vowel sound faded to nothing as Harry could not think of a response.

The towel dropped from Draco's hand to the floor and in a move that Harry decided was utterly captivating Draco pushed himself away from the doorjamb and stepped closer. Harry tried to look away, but found himself drawn deeper into the frost-covered depths of those eyes. They held him trapped in their gaze. "I need...."

And Draco was in front of him, so close Harry thought he could feel his breath in his face.

The Slytherin raised his right hand, pushed it through the heavy wet hair. Water trickled down, soaking his fingers and the cuff of his shirt. Then, with utter care, he let the hand trace down the damp body -- across a collarbone, following the line of Harry's sternum, down to the same place it had rested the previous evening. There he rested the flat of his hand over the tattoo, fingers stretched to cover as much of the magical mark as possible. He pressed lightly. "Can I kiss you, Harry?"

It took Harry a moment to find his voice and by the time he spoke, Draco's left hand was under his chin, already tilting his head up slightly.

"Yes," he breathed and his eyelids closed.

At first, the touch of those lips was so gentle Harry wasn't really sure he had felt it. He did feel the hand move from his chin. It trailed down his throat to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, while the other hand moved from his abdomen to rest on the small of his back. Draco's mouth moved slightly, the lips parting with a sigh, and after a moment's hesitation Harry followed the lead. 

And was crushed against the Slytherin's body.

The hand on his back pressed him closer as Draco thrust against him, the hard bone of Draco's pelvis digging into Harry's hip. Harry could do nothing but respond. His arms moved around the blond, pressing against his shoulder blades, leaving wet trails across the back of the shirt to match with the now soaked front.

Harry thought he might die when Draco caught his lower lip with his teeth, the gentle sucking pressure sending blood rushing into his own lips. Then Draco swept the tip of his tongue over the full lips and pressed persistently into his mouth. The tongue moved in deeper and he let out a small cry and groaned against Draco's mouth.

Almost as if Draco took this as a sign, the Slytherin moved his left hand from Harry's neck and joined his right has it moved to Harry's arse. Both hands grasped at the soft flesh and pulled upwards, bringing Harry up onto his toes. The movement made him pull away from Draco's mouth. "What...." But for the second time, Draco latched on to his bottom lip with his teeth, holding him there. Harry dove back in, his own arms now around Draco's neck.

Draco linked his fingers together and hauled Harry from the ground. Almost without thinking, Harry legs settled around Draco's hips, the ankles tucking together. Draco could feel Harry pressing against him as he cradled the boy and became aware of his own body, the soft material of his clothes actually feeling coarse against his sensitised skin.

Quickly Draco turned and left the bathroom. Harry was no weight in his arms and he carried him with ease out into the lounge and in front of that big fire. He had fantasized about taking Harry here on this rug ever since that first day they had spent together, and now he knelt down and bent forward, lowering the dark-haired boy to the ground. For a moment the legs stayed locked around his waist, then they slowly dropped away and Draco broke out of the kiss.

Kneeling between the spread legs, he looked down into those eyes, his hands resting either side of Harry's head. He didn't want to ask because he was scared of Harry's response, but he needed to know before he continued -- before it was too late to back out.

"You don't have to do this." The voice was husky with desire and longing. "I can stop now before it goes any further."

The dark hair looked even blacker against the white of the rug and he watched as Harry took a ragged breath.

"Don't hurt me." The hands linked up around Draco's neck again, pulling him down into a kiss. "Just don't hurt me."

"I couldn't..."

Harry rose up and captured his mouth, cutting off any further comment.

The kiss wasn't magnificent, Draco decided. But what Harry lacked in expertise, he made up for with determination. As Harry's mouth moved over his, Draco settled back and let him take the lead, responding to the way the lips caressed and moved, but not pushing forward. He slowly lowered himself from his hands and knees, stretching full-length along Harry's body. He felt a bare arm snake around his waist, the fingers gripping his shirt, their hold somehow intense ... urgent...

His tongue flickered out briefly, brushing over Harry's bottom lip.

Harry's eyes opened and Draco found his whole world filled with the startling green of the Gryffindor's eyes. For the moment, Draco could do nothing but look into them. He wanted to close his eyes so he didn't have to look, but at the same time he wanted to see Harry's expression -- to see that green naked ... without barriers.

Breath quickening, Draco felt Harry's tongue reach out to touch his own. Grey eyes widened slightly before flickering closed again and he drew Harry's tongue into his own mouth.

The only other time Harry had been in anything like his current situation had been during his disastrous entanglement with Lisa Turpin. That, he quickly decided, didn't come even close to the way Draco was kissing him. _I'm kissing Draco Malfoy, _a little voice whispered inside of him. It was while he was contemplating this fact that he found out what the power of the raw emotion he was currently feeling was really capable of.

His tongue caressed the roof of Draco's mouth. He hadn't meant to do this -- in fact, Harry wasn't sure exactly what he should be doing. But as the tip of his tongue swept across that point, he heard ... and felt ... Draco groan audibly and physically. The Slytherin's body crushed down against him, pinning him to the floor. Somehow Draco managed to wrap both his arms around Harry; one hand grasping his wet hair, the other supporting the small of his back in an effort to hold Harry closer. He ground his pelvis against the smaller boy. 

This, Harry decided, was good. Last night's kiss was incredible, but here he was naked, being pinned to the floor by the amazing weight of Draco's body. Everything was pressing onto him -- ribs, stomach, legs entwined with his own. And grinding against him was Draco's own hardness.

It was, Harry managed to muse in the part of his mind still currently unaffected by the overwhelming physical reactions, quite intoxicating.

And exciting.

And wonderfully naughty.

And he wanted more.

So it came as a bit of a shock when Draco suddenly rolled over, sweeping Harry on top of him. Harry whimpered at the sudden loss of pressure. He wanted the weight back, but the only way to get it was for him to now press down against the body beneath him. It wasn't the same. It wasn't nearly anywhere as nice. He pulled away from Draco's mouth and, without thinking, ran the tip of his tongue around the inside of Draco's lips, the hardness of teeth on one side and soft flesh on the other. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure flashing through him. Could his own tongue make him feel like this? And if it made him feel like it, what was it doing to Draco?

Harry repeated the action, his tongue tracing around the circle of Draco's mouth. The response from the supine boy beneath him was almost immediate. Draco let out a quiet hiss and his hands, which had been nicely resting somewhere close to Harry's shoulder blades, suddenly moved away, ending up on Harry's arse.

And squeezed.

Harry wasn't quite sure what noise he made in response to those long fingers moulding against his flesh, but he thought it was a squeak. The fingers gripped him with a pressure he thought might bruise, but all he wanted to do was push back and up into the hands. 

At some point between the kissing (Draco knew how to kiss) and fingers kneading hard circles over his skin, Harry ended up on his knees, crouched over Draco and straddling his hips, mouths still locked together. He was aware of those fingers dipping into places he'd never expected another person to touch, and all Harry could do was bear down against both the hands and Draco's body.

Then, just when he thought it couldn't get much better, Draco stopped kissing him. A little bewildered, Harry pulled back slightly and looked down into the whole of the other's face for the first time in what seemed like forever. Draco was flushed a delightful pink, highlighting cheek bones, and his lips seemed fuller than normal, red and parted just a little. He could see the white teeth, feel the breath on his own face and almost taste Draco's tongue as the blond swept it briefly over his own lips.

But it was the eyes that surprised and held him in thrall. He remembered seeing them like this the previous night. Pupils dilated, almost black, obscuring the grey until there was only a tiny ring surrounding the black. There was something different now, however. Last night there had been an almost manic urgency in them. Today the urgency was still there, but it was tempered with something else. Something Harry couldn't quite fathom. He thought it was tenderness, but he'd never seen that look on the Slytherin's face before.

Then Draco lifted his head from the floor. Harry thought he was going to be kissed again. Instead that agile tongue licked a path from the base of Harry's throat to his chin, where the tip swirled briefly in the cleft between his chin and mouth. The wet warmth on his skin dried almost instantly, leaving it feeling tight and tingling, and Harry breathless.

Draco had licked him.

The Slytherin had actually run his tongue over his skin. Then, while Harry was still thinking about the sensation, Draco did it again, this time along Harry's jawbone. The touch made Harry's eyelids flutter close momentarily and without thinking he pushed his hips down, harder against the body beneath him.

He wanted to try that himself -- to taste Draco's skin, but at the moment was content to remain locked in the embrace, the sensation of the soft cotton shirt rubbing against his own flesh.

Cotton.

A moment of clarity in the haze of emotional overload going on in his mind drifted to the forefront of his being. He was naked. He had no clothes on at all. Draco had found him naked in the shower. Draco, on the other hand, was still fully clothed. Wet, but nevertheless dressed.

Still straddling Draco's hips, it took Harry a moment to disentangle himself from the Slytherin's hands, but once free he straightened and sat down on Draco's belly. The Slytherin's firmness was pressed very nicely against him and he rocked back and forth a couple of times.

_Oh god, that feels so good! _

Almost overwhelmed by the sensation, Harry glanced down and quickly decided that Draco seemed to be enjoying it as much as he was. Fingers dug into Harry's thighs, the incredible firm grip holding him in place as his hips swayed while the rest of his body still. He whimpered, the sound reverberating from a point deep inside of him. He'd never felt anything like it ... a dragging feeling that was building and tightening in his stomach and dragging downwards through his body.

Eyes suddenly flashed open as he realised what that feeling was. He was hard and in danger of coming again right there and then. He couldn't, not like this, not with Draco beneath him. He tried to pull away, but the fingers digging into him shifted, holding him in place. 

"You're..." Harry gasped, breath catching in his throat. "You're still dressed."

"I know," Draco hissed.

"I don't think I can stop this." He pushed at Draco, trying to get free of him. If he came now... If he...

"God, it doesn't matter, Harry. It doesn't matter." Draco's words were hurried, almost inaudible. The deceptively strong hands suddenly left Harry's thighs, pulling him back down on top of the Slytherin. "Come here."

Harry squeaked, this time the sound an effort not to cry out loud as the two bodies meshed together, Draco's hands gripping his hips with a hard insistent pressure. He tried to match Draco's rhythm and the sound turned into a sob of frustration as he fought to control his body.

"Oh, please. I'm sorry. I can't..." Harry's words tumbled out, as he knew he couldn't hold back any longer and the knot of tight pleasure deep in his belly finally released in the jumble of physical emotions. He tried to pull away, but Draco held him close as he poured himself out. Little thrusts against the boy underneath him, little swear words from his mouth as Draco pulled him into a long, hard kiss.

Fighting for breath, Harry finally disentangled himself. Rising onto all fours, he pulled away, only too aware of the wetness of Draco's clothes. He realised he was trembling, his body feeling strange after what had just happened -- the thrusting, the movements -- all so very different from what had happened in the shower. So very different.

God, what was happening to him?

He hauled himself back against the sofa, and clutching his knees to his chest, he buried his head in his hands. "I am so sorry..." 

Draco was still on his back, eyes now closed. He could hear the ragged sound of Harry's breathing over the hard pounding of his own heart and the sound of blood rushing in his ears. Wet clothes stuck to his body and he could feel his own moist warmth mingling with Harry's. How, he questioned to himself, could someone be so eager, yet so tentative at the same time?

It was, he finally answered himself, just Harry's way. It was what made the Gryffindor so provocative. Those downcast green eyes watching... watching... Draco finally opened his eyes and turned to look at him. No green now, just the black hair spilling over his hands and knees. Still wet.

"Harry..."

A sob escaped as Harry let out a shuddering breath. Eyes squeezed tightly shut; Harry tried to comprehend the new sensations that were still racing through his body. This had been a whole different ball game. Mingled with the feel of Draco in his mouth, Harry's whole body seemed to be quivering with tension and there was a knot deep in his abdomen that threatened to explode. "I didn't mean to..."

There was a rustle of movement and Harry finally allowed himself to sneak a peek. Draco was on his feet and walking away. The Slytherin didn't even look back as he left the room.

Harry's head snapped up. Had it been that bad? Suddenly feeling chilled, he looked around him, desperate to find something to wear. He could go to the bedroom and get some clothes, but that would mean heading in the same direction as Draco and he wasn't sure he could face the sarcastic Slytherin or his taunts about sexual prowess. The green cloak was still where he had dropped it the night before and he crawled away from the sofa to where it lay. He had just pulled it around his shoulders when Draco came back into the room.

"Are you cold?"

Harry nodded and finally looked up at him. He blinked in surprise, unable to look away. Draco was naked.

He was sitting on the floor of Hagrid's cottage, and standing before him, once again holding a towel, was Draco Malfoy.

And Draco was naked.

Just standing there, with no clothes on.

Firelight glinted off the lithe pale body and turned white hair to gold. He could be an angel, Harry decided, imagination suddenly running riot at the thought of wings stretching from those shoulder blades.

He watched as the sky-clad angel intoned a single word, _"Incalescerea."_ Almost immediately a warmth filled the room, bringing it to a very nice temperature. Then the angel crossed over to him and dropped to his knees. He ran a hand quickly through Harry's hair.

"It's still wet. You should dry it."

Harry managed to give a single nod. Later, when he ran over the day's events, he would remember the towel being held out to him, but all he could do at that moment was watch Draco and unconsciously lick his lips.

"What's wrong? Haven't you ever seen a boy naked before?"

"No," Harry managed a small whisper. "At least not one I've just... well ... you know." He finally met Draco's gaze and saw a smile.

"Yes, I know." Draco dropped the towel so that it covered Harry's head and began to dry the hair. "Harry, about earlier. It doesn't matter. Clothes can be cleaned."

"I just should have..." Hidden under the towel, Harry tried to find the words, but they wouldn't come.

"Should have what?"

"I -- I don't know." He took a shuddering breath, which hitched in his throat as though he was crying. "It's just... I didn't mean to..."

Draco chuckled and, pulling the towel back, he grinned at the mortified boy beneath it. "I hope it won't be the last time." He was still smiling when he finally tossed the towel away and sat back on his heels to study the messy-haired boy.

Harry sat there, watching him, looking for all the world like some little waif. "I should have got them to cut it all off," Draco murmured to himself. Tilting Harry's face up towards him, he ran his fingers through the still damp hair, teasing out snags as he went. He could, he decided, sit all day playing with this hair. It felt wonderful and smelled delicious and he wanted to bury himself in it. 

Harry was fascinated by the rapt concentration on Draco's face as he went about his task. But wasn't that just typical of the Slytherin? Didn't he always have to do everything just right? Grey eyes looked at him, one hand still in his hair. The eyes sparkled with a smile not completely mirrored on Draco's face, but that was mainly because that face was just about to take Harry's mouth in another kiss. For the first time Harry's hand gripped into Draco's soft hair. The kiss was different this time. Less urgent, the movements slower, more deliberate.

As it ended, Draco stood again. He reached down and pulled the cloak from Harry's shoulders. "I don't think you need that."

"No, I guess not." He watched Draco cross to the sofa and sit down, legs stretched out along the length while his back rested against the cushions.

"Are you going to stay there all day?"

Slowly, Harry crawled the few paces to the sofa. Once there he sat back on his heels for a moment and studied the person before him. He was in Hagrid's cottage. He was naked and he was with Draco Malfoy. What was it Ron's star chart reading had said? _This isn't just about sex, Harry -- whoever this person is, this chart shows love, pure and simple -- an attraction so powerful it could bring together people who are incompatible under normal circumstances. Maybe there's hope for you and Malfoy after all._

Incompatible under normal circumstances. Was that what was making him tingle right now? The thought that there was something forbidden about this? More forbidden than having feelings for someone of the same sex as he was? Forbidden because it was Draco Malfoy and what he represented?

Darkness. All the things Harry hated. Voldemort.

Hadn't Hermione warned him yesterday -- _There are bigots everywhere, and I am sure that some of them would like nothing better than to find a way of bringing you down. If he decides to kiss-and-tell, the backlash could be horrifying._ Yet here he was...

Here, kneeling beside this incompatible person who was most certainly capable of bringing him down to earth with a very violent crash.

_I can give you tonight, _Draco had told him earlier. Could it really hurt just to accept that? To have and enjoy this one stolen moment?

He climbed on to the sofa. It was big enough to take them both easily, and he curled up against Draco's side with his head resting against the pale shoulder. For several minutes neither moved, then Draco's cheek dropped to rest on Harry's head. Slowly, Harry stretched out an arm and laid it over the warm bare chest. Arms moved around him, cradling him in an embrace, which was crowned by the sensation of a kiss being bestowed on the top of his head.

This, Harry decided, wasn't nearly as bad as he had thought it might be.

********************

Draco had learned the art of stillness early in his life. As a child, he had found it difficult to remain still, but it had been inexorably drummed into him until he was able to stand or sit for hours without moving. At first he had thought that just being still was enough, but his father had made it clear Draco still had to pay attention to his lessons while under instructions to remain still. So he learned to switch off from the physical discomfort and concentrate on his lessons.

His father also used stillness as a punishment. Lucius would start his chastisement with a verbal tirade stating clearly just what his son had done. Then Draco would be left alone standing in the middle of the room to contemplate the error of his ways until one of his parents returned minutes or hours later.

But there was another form of stillness, one he had learned from his grandmother. This was the stillness of quiet reflection, of watching and waiting. When she was alive they would go to the woods surrounding Malfoy Manor and watch the animals and birds. They would sit in hushed companionship waiting for the deer to come close or for other animals to venture into the clearing. Sometimes they would sit on the roof of the huge manor building and watch the sun dip behind the hills. Then, as the sky gradually darkened, they would wait for the stars to appear and she would tell him stories.

It was this second quiet contemplation he was engrossed in now as he stared into the flames, pinesap spluttering occasionally. When he had decided to return earlier, he had known he would have Harry; and at some point between talking to Granger and arriving here, he had also convinced himself that Harry wanted it as well. What he hadn't expected was that Harry would be such an eager participant. He had also thought that, despite the fact he had wanted this for so long, once it was over both he and Harry would depart back to their old lives, forgetting (or at least ignoring) the incident.

In spite of that, here he was, lying in silence, with Harry curled up against him.

And it felt like the most natural thing he had ever done in his life.

It also scared him to hell and back. Sex was one thing. He could distance that from real feelings and just focus on the physical act. Yet he really did feel contented lying here with Harry pressed lightly against him, jet-black hair spread over his skin, tickling and caressing.

He quickly reminded himself that Draco Malfoy _took_ what he wanted, and didn't bother giving back. And yet...

And yet...

This shared pleasure -- giving and taking. Draco Malfoy _giving?_

Draco looked down at the dark head and wondered if Harry was awake. The Gryffindor has turned away from him and they were now both laying on their right sides, spooned together, but not quite touching. Carefully he slid his right arm under Harry's neck; letting the limb rest across the smaller boy's chest, where he could feel the flutter of a heart beat.

Pushing Harry's head forward a little, Draco found no resistance as he brushed the hair away to reveal the pale skin at the nape of Harry's neck. He ran a finger along the spine as he had done in the robe shop, and the smaller boy moved his head slightly, giving him better access. His left hand twisted into Harry's hair, winding it into one long strand before placing a kiss where the neck joined the shoulder. He continued twisting, finally pushing the hair to one side.

With Harry's neck now completely exposed, he studied it for a moment. The skin was smooth, pale from where it was always sheltered from the sunlight under the thick black curls. His left hand ran over it, tracing from the tanned shoulders to the paleness as though trying to find something there. Like it held a great secret he couldn't fathom.

It seemed so intimate to touch Harry there, this place that was normally as hidden from view as his clothed body. To feel the muscles quiver under his fingertips was strangely erotic. Breathing in the boy's scent, Draco finally traced a line of kisses up the downy skin to the hairline. He felt Harry groan, a faint rumble from deep in his throat, and knew that he was making a similar noise. "Do you like that?"

"Mmmmm." Harry reached behind him, touching Draco's hip, and pushed back against him.

"So tell me then, Harry, is this better or worse?" With that Draco licked the same path he had just kissed.

"Ohhh." Harry took a deep shuddering breath. "I'm not sure."

"Maybe I should try again then." Draco arm tightened across Harry's chest, pulling the Gryffindor back tighter against him. The dark head had dropped to the sofa, exposing the whole of his neck for Draco to play with, from the tip of his shoulder right up to his ear. "Do you prefer this?" He tongued along the exposed skin, little fast flicks and slow lingering sweeps. "Or this?" The line of kisses was interspersed with the occasional nip of teeth on flesh.

"This...?" The tongue reached down and swept around the shell of Harry's ear, the tip dipping into the folds. "Or this...?" Teeth nibbled along the hard, sharp edge of a shoulder blade.

"This...?" Lick.

"Or this...?" Nip.

Lick. And kiss.

He felt Harry hiss and sigh under each caress. He occasionally bucked as Draco found a particularly sensitive area of flesh. When Draco sucked hard on his earlobe, Harry groaned aloud, but it was a different spot that elicited the best reaction. It was that point at the top of his spine, normally covered by his hair. All Draco had to do was to blow softly on it and Harry would make the most delightful noises. It was as if he couldn't decide whether to lean into any caress there or whether to lean away so that the area was better exposed.

Finally Draco took hold of Harry's hands, holding them lightly against the Gryffindor's midriff, gently massaging with both his own fingers and Harry's. "So, which do you prefer?"

"Both," Harry exhaled. "I didn't think..."

"Think what?" The hands moved down to the area below Harry's navel.

"Think... Think kissing could be like that."

"Oh, there's more to kissing than a peck on the cheek." Draco nibbled at the junction of Harry's neck and shoulder before sucking on the sensitive skin.

Harry's fingers tightened around Draco's. "Show me."

********************

When Harry had said 'Show me' to the Slytherin he hadn't been exactly sure what it might mean.

And if he was completely honest he didn't really care that much. 

He didn't care that it was way past lunchtime and he'd had very little breakfast. Or that the curtains were still closed. Or that he had homework to finish. Or, in fact, anything.

All he was interested in at that moment was the fact that Draco Malfoy was currently kissing his nipple.

In fact, 'kissing' wasn't strictly true, Harry decided. Granted, the Slytherin had started by kissing, but now he alternated between licking with his very able tongue, sucking with his wonderful mouth, and nipping gently with his teeth.

Harry had his eyes closed, his entire focus condensed down to just that three-inch-square area of his skin and the feel of Draco's tongue. It moved over and around flesh he hadn't realised could be so sensitive, sending wave after wave of little shocks though his body. Each one left him a little more light-headed ... a little more detached from reality.

His body felt like it was trembling imperceptibly, from the roots of his hair down to the tips of his toes. As if every inch of his skin was being brushed by invisible fluttering wings ... that those wings were underneath his skin ... inside him. For the first time in what felt like forever, Harry tried to speak. The voice sounded like it belonged to someone else. "Please..."

The tongue swept once more around the dark areola surrounding Harry's nipple before pulling away. Draco looked down at the boy laid before him like a dessert on a sweet trolley. "What, Harry?" He shifted, sitting up momentarily before moving a little further down the sofa towards Harry's hips.

"Can you do that again?"

"Do what?" Draco watched almost in awe at the way Harry's Adam's apple moved. He raised his index and middle finger, touching the dip just above Harry's sternum.

"Make ... make the other one feel like that." Harry squirmed a little, as if desperate to get Draco's mouth back on his body again. 

"Why don't you do that for yourself?" Draco trailed the two fingers down Harry's body. He reached the little dip of Harry's navel, the gold and red circular design of the tattoo glinting in the firelight.

"What?"

"Touch yourself, Harry." The voice was a deep purr as Draco began running a fingertip lazily over the tattoo lines.

"I don't know... I've never..."

"Sure you can." Reaching across the supine body, Draco picked up Harry's left hand and laid it across his chest. "Show me."

For a moment the hand was still, unmoving on Harry's chest. Then slowly the fingertips began stroking and teasing at the untouched nipple. His eyes were open now -- wide, bright with emotion. And Draco watched, his gaze fixed on the expressive features.

Sex had always been about the physical act to Draco. He'd never been particularly worried about the emotions involved. Do it and leave. If he wanted to be with the same person again, then fine, but he didn't want to get caught up in the emotional attachment others wanted. But watching Harry stirred something he hadn't experienced since the first time he'd ever had sex. The way Harry acted and responded -- his expressive eyes and face.

_People are for using,_ he reminded himself. _This is sex, nothing more. Physical pleasure only, like it was with Alex. I won't allow myself to be emotionally involved with him. I've already compromised myself enough for him._

But the look on Harry's face -- innocent virgin delight in his body. It was breath-taking to watch.

Propping himself up on his elbow, he ran his fingers over Harry's lips, needing to touch them. For a moment Harry lay quite still apart from the languid movements of his fingers over his own body, his eyes focused on some distant spot. Then he reached his hand to Draco's thigh and green eyes shifted, meeting grey. He watched Draco for a moment before taking the blond's fingers into his mouth.

This time it was Draco who gasped as Harry suckled on the two fingers. He watched, fascinated, as Harry's tongue twisted around his fingers, allowing them to push deeper into the warm depths. To have that mouth wrapped around him and those eyes watching as he sucked on him. With a sigh, Draco finally pulled free, running his thumb across the still open mouth before drawing away.

"Oh, Harry." The words were so quiet that Draco wasn't sure if he'd even spoken them out loud. Damp fingers leaving a wet trail down Harry's torso, Draco lowered himself to the cushions, lying beside him. He shifted down supine body and wrapped his leg around Harry's, hugging his thigh against the smaller boy's calf. Harry's hand trailed up Draco's back before settling on his shoulder, where it became a barometer for what he was enjoying. The lightly stroking fingers would become still or grip tightly as Draco kissed, licked and sucked his way over his body.

Draco swirled his tongue around the depression of Harry's navel before finally placing a kiss there, his tongue darting inside the hole. The grip on his shoulder became almost vice-like. Hips bucked beneath him, and Draco thrust into the little hollow a second time. Harry still tasted clean from his earlier shower, but there were other tastes on his skin. Of sweat, of the Gryffindor's own fluids, even a taste that he recognised as himself. This was, he decided, almost exquisite.

He paused for a moment and studied the thin line of hair spreading down from Harry's navel to his groin, a dusting of darkness around the flushed flesh.

Yes, exquisite.

There was something about touching and stroking Harry that turned Draco on even more than if Harry was giving it back to him. He couldn't describe it, but it caused a tight little knot to grow inside him similar to the sensation he experienced just before climax. Yet this seemed to just go on and on, leaving him feeling almost limp with pleasure. A pleasure that grew just playing with Harry like this.

Not, of course, that he wouldn't rather have Harry's mouth wrapped around him at this very moment.

Draco smiled to himself and dipped his tongue in the depression of Harry's navel once more. His right hand caressed the soft skin on Harry's inner thigh, fingers trailing from the knee upwards tracing little circles in the warm flesh. Reaching the hipbone, he traced a line over the curve of Harry's buttock before moving back down the outer edge to the knee. The journey was repeated and he could feel Harry's fingers mirroring the movements over his back, running up his spine and around the nape of his neck.

He shifted his body slightly, tongue trailing a path back up Harry's torso, up the sternum, following the line of a rib and lingering on Harry's side for a while. Then back across the trembling chest to swirl over the dark areola. Harry arched his back in response, as if trying to fuse their bodies together. His nails dug into Draco's shoulder, a moan escaping his lips. Draco finally took the nipple into his mouth, eyes closing as the knot within him grow tighter; the sensation caused his breathing to hitch erratically, his heartbeat quickening in tandem to Harry's own.

"Draco."

The single word was a whispered sigh, the tone low and urgent, sending electric chills up Draco's spine. He would probably never admit it, but he had always been enthralled by Harry's sexy baritone, and now as they lay entwined in each other's arms, the rumble seem to resonate through his very being, ripping into his very core and putting him back together again. Draco shut his eyes tighter and buried his head in the crook of Harry's arm, which tightened around him. In response, his mouth covered Harry in soft butterfly kisses, and he pressed urgently against the smaller boy's thigh.

Draco shifted once again, finally covering Harry's upper body with his own. He reached for Harry's wrists, gripping at them as he held them against the dark-haired boy's head. Stormy eyes bore into sea green; the darkened indolent gaze sent arrows of desire piercing through him. Draco knew he couldn't last long, the sensation of touching and stroking Harry was rapidly sending his body into overdrive.

He nudged his knee between Harry's legs, which parted automatically. There, he wrapped his leg around Harry's thigh, curling his foot under the calf, toes running circles against the soft skin. Draco sighed, and pressed himself against Harry's hipbone. He was rewarded by a sharp hiss.

"Harry, look at me," he whispered, and the smaller boy complied. The green had almost disappeared from his eyes, replaced by large black pupils that seemed to suck in the light, dragging Draco along with it. He released Harry's right wrist momentarily, before capturing with his right hand and holding both arms, one handed, over the boy's head. There was no struggle against the grip; no attempt to get free. Just those eyes staring at him and the panting rise and fall of Harry's chest against his own.

Draco ran his free hand over the contour of Harry's cheek, down to his jaw, lingering there as he looked deep into those eyes. His fingers continued up the other cheek, slowly to the eyebrows -- caressing, touching, then down the bridge of the nose before finally finding refuge once more in the warm wet depths of Harry's mouth. 

Harry responded by sucking his fingers hard, teeth nipping against the digits, tongue swirling along the length. Draco hissed and dug against Harry's hip involuntarily, his blood pounding in his ears. 

_Oh God. _Draco squeezed his eyes tight as he pulled his fingers free, his hand moving down to rest on Harry's thigh. Muscles trembled under his touch, as though an icy shiver had run through the dark-haired boy. But the skin was hot -- so very hot. Legs shifted and Harry whimpered, hips rising up to meet the caressing fingers which now held him. In response, Draco leaned forward, taking the waiting mouth in a hard, sweet kiss.

As the fingers played, Harry let out a little curse, lost against Draco's mouth, sobbing as he tried to suppress a moan. For the first time Harry pulled against the hands trapping his own.

Draco drew back and stared into the flushed face for a long time, willing his breath to slow... the rising tension in his body to subside a little. He grasped the hands tighter, and ran his tongue up Harry's inner arm.

"Please." Harry gasped out the single word, the sound a cross between begging and desire.

The reaction caused a self-satisfied smile to flicker on Draco's face. He pressed his lips against Harry's ear and whispered, "You can moan."

Watching the face, Draco's fingers finally closed around Harry for the first time.

The Gryffindor let out a shocked squeak, feet digging into the cushions as he attempted to propel himself backwards. "Bloody hell, Malfoy," Harry hissed, tugging at his hands again.

Draco tried not to smile as he just held on until Harry was finally still again. There was something else in those green eyes now and he tried to read them. Was it anger masking fear? Or was the darkness hinting at desire and wanting? His caressing touches turned a little firmer, each movement a little more urgent. Harry bit down on his lip and let out a strangled cry.

"Or you can scream." Still smiling, Draco leaned closer, his tongue gently licking on an earlobe, the dark hair stirring in his breath. A shudder passed through him as he felt the coiled spring of tension finally wind itself up completely, the growing knot in his belly threatening to explode. It built in sharp bursts of pleasure as his grip on Harry's hands tightened further, nails now digging deep into the flesh of his wrists, his own movements full of desperation and want. _Oh yes, oh yes, _his mind screamed incoherently.

"Oh God, " The words were choked from deep inside Harry.

"Or you can do both." Draco's voice was ragged as he thrust against Harry, his teeth sinking into the base of Harry's neck, where it joined the body and he bit hard. Culmination crashed into him with the force of a tsunami.

Harry screamed.

********************

"Have you seen Harry?"

Hermione looked up from the library book and glared at Ron Weasley. "Shhhh. Some of us are trying to study." She turned to Susan Bones, her Hufflepuff study partner and shrugged. "Sorry." Susan shrugged back and continued reading the shared book, occasionally jotting down the odd note. "Now, what do you want?"

Ron dropped down onto one of the hard wooden library chairs, tilting it on the back legs. "I'm looking for Harry. No one's seen him since last night."

The expression on the Head Girl's face didn't alter. She had started covering for Harry at the beginning of their seventh year and was a past master at guarding her expression even from their best friend. Sometimes she felt a little guilty about it, but as most of the time Harry was trying to get away from Ron -- and the guilt Harry felt over Ron's injury -- she was willing to make the sacrifice. "Have you checked his room?" Ron nodded, tilting the chair back further. "If you fall and crack your head open I'm not fetching Madam Pomfrey."

He dropped the chair back to the floor with a loud crack. At least half a dozen students and Madam Pince, the school Librarian, all hissed at Ron to be quiet. "What are you doing studying anyway? It's Sunday."

"And the N.E.W.T.s are only 14 weeks away. It wouldn't hurt you, or Harry for that matter, to start revising." She waggled a reproachful finger at him. "You realise now that you have a reputation to maintain. Great things are expected of Head Boys and Girls."

"Do you know, you sound just like my mother. If I wanted a lecture, I'd go and find Snape." He pulled a book toward him, flicking back a few pages.

"Ron!" Hermione hissed as she grabbed the book back. "What do you want him for anyway?"

"Who?"

"Harry."

"Well," the redhead shrugged, looking a little crestfallen. "We argued at the ball last night over some stupid dance and I'm worried he might be mad at me."

"Don't be silly." Susan, who was pointing something out in one of the books, distracted her attention. Hermione nodded at the girl and quickly added some notes of her own. They began talking excitedly over what the Hufflepuff had found.

"And I wanted to tell him about being Head Boy. He probably doesn't know yet."

Hermione gave a little snort of derision. "I doubt that. I expect it's the talk of Hogsmeade as well as the school." She glanced back at Ron. "Though I expect it is Justin's sudden disappearance rather than your change of position that they are discussing."

"Did you speak to Justin?"

"Before he left?" Ron nodded. "He said goodbye."

"Nothing else?"

"No, not really."

"He was upset." Both Gryffindors turned as one towards Susan. The girl's expression had turned to one of sadness. "Justin came back to the Hufflepuff common room yesterday morning after talking to Professor Dumbledore and he was really upset."

"Did he say what happened?"

"No, poor thing. Just that his dad had been given a new posting and they were flying out to America. What is even stranger is that his dad is a minister or something in the Muggle diplomatic services and has been posted overseas for most of Justin's life. Why should he suddenly want Justin to go with him this time? We all tried to convince him he should make his parents let him stay, but Justin didn't seem to care that there are only 4 months until the final exams." Susan suddenly started gathering up her books and it was clear she was upset by the sudden disappearance of her Housemate. "I need to get some things sorted out. I'll see you later." With that she was gone.

"Thanks, Ron."

"What?"

"Tactful as always."

"How did I know she'd get upset talking about Justin?" He suddenly sat forward. "Do you remember me and Harry telling you about the Mirror of Erised back in our first year?" Hermione nodded. "Well, when I looked into the Mirror, I saw myself not only as Head Boy and Quidditch Captain, but we'd won the House and Quidditch cups. Look at me --" He spread his arms wide. "I'm Head Boy _and_ Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. We're sure to win the Quidditch cup and are currently leading for the House Cup."

"Ron, that Mirror doesn't tell the future. It's all about desires."

"I wonder what I would see in it now?"

"The Knight Bus probably, with you as the conductor if you don't do some work."

"No way!" Ron said with conviction. "I am going to do great things, believe me."

Hermione reached out a hand and briefly rubbed her friend's arm. "Of course you are."

"I wonder if he's at Hagrid's?"

"Harry? I expect so." She turned over a page and stared thoughtfully at an illustration.

"Maybe I should go out there."

"Good idea," she murmured. Then she realised what he had just said and spun back round to face him. "What?! No, don't do that."

"Why not? He wouldn't mind." Ron frowned and peered closely at her. "Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"No. It's..." Doing her best not to look flustered, Hermione suddenly wondered if Malfoy had actually gone to Harry. "It's lunchtime. Why don't we go and eat?" Ron was still staring at her and she realised she might just be blushing. She pushed her hair back behind her ear and pointed her quill at the window. "And look at the weather. You'd get soaked, end up with pneumonia or something like that and miss even more classes. Besides, you know what Harry's like. He'll be back later. I expect he's got his hands full right now." 

********************

If Draco were really honest with himself, he would admit to the fact he had joined in with Harry's scream. Not as loud or as unrestrained as the Gryffindor but a scream nevertheless. And he had moaned as well. So much for the more reserved sex he had always been used to.

Once he had regained his breath, he had settled beside Harry, trapping him against the back of the sofa, and proceeded to kiss, lick and nibble the boy nearly senseless. Now Harry hung bonelessly in his arms, his face a picture of bliss as Draco continued snuggling him. Tasting him. Touching him. He was completely enthralled by the little noises Harry made. Sighs, moans, little cries of pleasure and an occasional squeak that was normally the result of something unexpected. He would, he decided, have to start calling him 'Mouse'. 

With a sigh, Draco pushed the dark sweat-dampened hair from Harry's face. The hand remained entwined in the soft strands, cupping the side of Harry's head. "So..." he breathed.

Mirroring the other's sigh, Harry met the grey eyes with a relaxed smile. "So..."

Both lapsed into a companionable silence, and Harry slowly allowed himself to surface from the vortex of pleasure Draco had left him in. He still felt just a little stunned by the whole experience and at that precise moment couldn't really comprehend what had just happened or how it made him feel. Three or four hours ago he had stood in the shower feeling ashamed of himself and of his feelings, yet this felt so right. He loved the attention Draco was paying him, loved the way it made him feel, loved being touched by skin not his own. The inhibited boy who had argued with the Slytherin in the early hours of the morning had changed and found a depth of expression he never thought possible.

"That was ... nice," the Gryffindor finally murmured. He turned his face into the hand still resting against his cheek and, after a moment, kissed the palm. Draco tasted like he smelled. The same smell Harry had noticed on his clothes six weeks ago. Cloves and cinnamon and spices and Christmas. He knew he had to taste and he flicked the tip of his tongue out, running across the skin. It was an intriguing sensation, feeling the ridges and lines on Draco's palm and he tried it once more this time in a broader, longer stroke.

"Oh," Draco groaned at the warm wetness on his hand and the way Harry's tongue dipped between his index and middle finger. "Only nice?" he finally managed to question.

Harry gave a drowsy chuckle. "Are you looking for marks out of ten?"

"Are you keeping score?"

"There were other things on my mind." He was sure he could still feel Draco's touch on his skin as if his mouth would be forever imprinted on his flesh. Branding him with those lips only inches away from him now. All he had to do was turn his head a little and he would be able to kiss that mouth again. "But if you want..."

"Mmmmm. Surprise me." He nuzzled into Harry's neck.

"Okay." Harry's gaze fixed somewhere over Draco's shoulder and he frowned thoughtfully. "For technical merit..."

"You're going to mark my technique?"

"Of course. I think I would give you 'very, very nice'."

Draco looked hurt. "Only nice?"

"Not just nice. Don't forget the 'very, very' bit of the marks. If I said it was exquisite or something like that, you'd turn into an insufferable git. And when marking, there should always be room for improvement, otherwise the contestant wouldn't have anything to aim for next time."

"Don't get your hopes up, Potter." Draco heart skipped a beat. Did Harry really mean he wanted there to be a next time?

"Don't tell me," Harry snorted, "Malfoys don't do next times." He placed a small, quick kiss on Draco's wrist before pulling the hand down to rest on his own chest.

"Malfoys have been known to make exceptions."

"So have Potters." Harry allowed his fingers to dance lightly over the back of Draco's hand. "Now, on to artistic interpretation." Draco started to laugh and Harry glared at him in mock disapproval. "This is very serious. The outcome of the House Cup could rest on these marks you know."

"Sorry. So, artistic interpretation?"

"For interesting use of hands and mouth, I would have to give it 'very nice, bordering on exquisite'."

"Only one 'very'?"

"Yes, but it did get an 'exquisite'."

"And interesting marking system, Potter. You'll have to show me how it works."

"I'll try, but you need to be a Gryffindor to really understand." 

They snuggled together, drifting back into silence, without realising just how close their bodies were. Skin to skin. A comfort zone between them that would not have been possible a few weeks ago. In the stillness of the room, the only sounds were the crackle of the fire, the tick of the clock on the mantelpiece and the pit-pat of rain against the windows.

"It's raining," Harry finally noted.

"Yes." Draco gave a little smile. "Dumbledore said it would, but I think it's arrived a bit earlier than he thought."

"You've spoken to the Headmaster?"

"Mmmm."

"About anything interesting?"

"No."

Silence again. Neither moved, both content to lie there while Draco's hand played lazily with Harry's hair and the Gryffindor's fingertip grazed back and forth over the Slytherin's hand. Somewhere in the distance a rumble of thunder reverberated around the valley. 

Finally Draco spoke. "So, how did you get the scar?"

Harry looked at him with mild surprise. "Evil curse. Dreaded dark wizard. I'm sure you know the story."

"I don't mean that one." Draco leaned forward, closing the few inches that separated him from Harry's forehead and placed a kiss on the zigzag scar above his right eye. "I mean the one on your leg." There was no reply and he looked down to see Harry staring at him, open-mouthed. "What?" He thought Harry looked like he was going to cry.

"Y-you kissed it." The Gryffindor's hand now covered the scar. 

"Yes." Draco ran a finger along Harry's cheekbone. "Is it a problem?"

"It's just that..." Harry swallowed. "No one's ever touched it except you. When we were here at New Year." He could still feel the kiss as though it was flitting back and forth along the lightning bolt shape of the scar. "You were talking about your grandmother." 

"I know." The finger traced around the edge of Harry's eye, before continuing along his brow. There, Draco pulled Harry's hand away and studied the thin scar again. The line had been white when he had last touched it, but today it was darker against the skin, almost pink, and he wondered at the significance of the colour. He traced the line again, recalling all the hurtful comments he had made about the scar in the past. Yet there was something about it now -- a resonance when he touched it that he couldn't understand. "Do you mind?"

"You touching it?"

Draco nodded.

"No, I don't think so."

With that, Draco leaned forward again and placed another kiss on the mark, before following the shape with the tip of his tongue. Harry's eyelids fluttered closed, dark lashes dusting his cheeks, as he followed the journey of the caress. When it finally finished, Harry didn't move for a long time. Then, with a little sigh, he swallowed and finally managed to speak.

"Why did you come back?"

"You haven't told me about the scar yet."

"Draco..."

The Slytherin dropped away from Harry on to his back and stared up at the ceiling. "I told you. I brought your cloak back."

Draco's arm remained around Harry's shoulder as he pushed himself up on his elbow so he could still see the Slytherin's face. He could feel the long fingers moving absently back and forth, their touch light on his skin. What was Draco thinking, Harry wondered as he rested a hand lightly on the blond's stomach. What was going on behind those impassive eyes? And just how much of his own life should Harry entrust to Draco? Could it really hurt to tell him this?

"I fell through a glass door." Harry's voice was quiet as he spoke and the grey eyes met his again, a question in them. "The scar on my leg -- I cut it on the broken glass."

"What happened?"

"I had a fight with my uncle and he pushed me. I overbalanced and slipped. The next thing I knew I was crashing through the glass door. Fortunately I had a jumper on or I would have cut my arms badly as well. Most of the little cuts healed without any marks, but I've got another scar here." Harry held up the hand that had been resting on Draco's stomach to show a two-inch scar on his forearm. Frowning, Draco's fingers closed around the limb, his thumb rubbing over the mark. "You should have seen all the blood." He gave a laugh. "Aunt Petunia was furious and she never managed to get it all out of the carpet. They had to replace it in the end."

The grip of the fingers on Harry's shoulder had changed, they now held him tightly, and when he looked at Draco again, there was something in the still face that worried him. The coldness in the eyes was frighteningly real and Harry remembered once again that this person messed with the Dark Arts in his spare time, and had offered to 'deal' with Harry's family less than twelve hours ago. Harry had thought he was joking, but seeing the face now, he realised the offer hadn't been made in jest.

"What did they do?" The Slytherin's voice was very quiet.

"They had to take me to hospital in the end and I needed stitches. At least it got me out of having to do the gardening," Harry added, trying to make his voice light-hearted.

"Are you going back?"

"To them?" Draco nodded and, lacing his fingers with Harry's, he brought the hand to his mouth. "Not if I can help it." Draco kissed the back of his hand before running his tongue over and around each of the knuckles. "Except I'll still be 17 when school finishes and legally not an adult." The agile tongue ran down to his wrist, licking over the pulse point before sucking on it briefly. "So..." Harry's voice rose in pitch and he cleared his throat in an effort to bring it back to normal. "So I'll have to see what happens." He groaned as Draco reached the scar on his arm and licked slowly up and down the slightly raised skin. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to take my mind off your relatives."

_"Your _mind?"

Draco lowered the captured hand down until it rested below his navel. He spread Harry's fingers out until they lay over his skin. "Yes. If I spend too much time thinking about them, I might just go and push your uncle through a door myself."

"It was probably my fault," Harry replied immediately, much too quickly. A thought bubbled up from deep inside, one that made him shiver. _He cares about me._

"I doubt that very much. What terrible thing did you do to be worthy of that sort of treatment?"

The incident was still vividly clear in Harry's mind despite happening 18 months ago. He dropped back on to Draco's shoulder and joined him in his study of the ceiling.

"It had been a rainy cold afternoon in late-August. We were due to go back to school the following week and this was one of those typical August Bank Holiday Mondays when everyone wanted to go to the beach, but the weather was more like November than the end of summer."

"What's a bank holiday?"

"It's a Muggle holiday when the banks are closed and most people get the day off work. The one in August is always the last Monday in the month."

"Oh."

"Anyway, I was decorating the lounge while the rest of the family were out visiting Aunt Marge."

"Didn't you want to go to the beach?"

"I would have loved to go to the beach even on a day like that. I've never been to the beach before." Harry looked momentarily wistful, but quickly pushed the feeling away and continued. He didn't notice the fleeting look of surprise that crossed Draco's face or his furrowed brow. "Anyway..." he turned in against the warmth of Draco's skin, subconsciously moving closer. "I didn't mind, it's nice to be left on my own away from Dudley's snide remarks and Uncle Vernon's complaining for a few hours at least. I knew I'd made a good job of things, but hadn't noticed the few tiny spots of paint on the carpet. Which, of course, were the first things Aunt Petunia saw. That woman has a mouth on her. I think she didn't take a breath for at least five minutes when she got in and saw the carpet. And Dudley -- the fat bastard just stood there sniggering 'Just wait 'til dad gets in' over and over. When Uncle Vernon finally finished parking his precious car, he joined in the 'let's slate Harry' haranguing. He started by pointing out places I had allegedly missed..."

"I take it you hadn't?"

"Definitely not. I wasn't worried about it -- I'd had 15 years of him venting his anger. But then things started going downhill. I said I'd get some paint remover to clean the carpet and I turned to go and get it. He went mad. He grabbed my arm and spun me back around. Now I was worried because he was almost purple with rage. 'Don't you ever turn your back on me, boy!' he yelled, and then backhanded me across the face." Harry let out a long slow breath at the memory. "It bloody hurt. Normally I can read his moods and would be prepared for this sort of treatment..."

"Did he hit you a lot?"

"Sometimes, but this one caught me by surprise," Harry shrugged. "I staggered backwards, caught my foot on a paint can and stumbled to the floor. Unfortunately Uncle Vernon had closed the door between the lounge and hall. The door had a full-length glass panel and I fell through it. I don't remember much after that, except lying there surrounded by glass and listening to them complaining because the lid had come off the paint can and now there was Sunshine Yellow paint all over both them and the carpet. I tried to get up, but realised my leg was on the glass still in the doorframe. I tried called for help, but they were more interested in the paint.

"Aunt Petunia saw the blood and almost passed out in a swoon of Oscar-winning proportions. And though I hate to admit it, it was Dudley who came to my rescue. He got me off the glass, found some bandages and insisted they take me to hospital before I bled to death."

"Why didn't you use magic? It was an emergency."

"I don't know. For one thing, my wand had been locked away and for another, I just didn't think about it."

"He took away your wand?"

"Look, they are Muggles. They don't like magic. They don't understand." Harry swore under his breath. _Don't keep defending them, Harry, they made you life hell ... are still making it hell._ He shifted a little, feeling uncomfortable at admitting things to Draco. "I was taken to hospital, had the gash stitched up and I stayed there overnight. When I got home the next day, the hospital instructions had been for 'bed rest', but Uncle Vernon wasn't interested and Aunt Petunia refused to 'pamper me' as she put it. I couldn't even get down the stairs to start with and it was Dudley who came to my aid yet again. He would bring me my meals. Don't ask me why."

Harry paused. Could Dudley's sudden need to help his cousin have been because he thought Harry might tell someone about the porn videos Dudley kept in his room? Harry almost voiced the thought to Draco but quickly stopped himself. The last thing he wanted to admit to the Slytherin was the existence of those tapes or the fact he had watched them.

"I can't tell you how relieved I was to get back to Hogwarts the following week," he quickly continued. "Only Madam Pomfrey and Professor Dumbledore had known how bad the injury had actually been and it took weeks for it to heal properly."

Harry finally gave a sigh. "And that is how I got the scar." He turned slightly, nuzzling against Draco's shoulder.

"So," Draco tightened his arm around Harry. "Had it healed when you played Slytherin six weeks later?"

Harry shrugged. "Madam Pomfrey couldn't use magic because of the Muggle treatment. She used something to make it heal a bit quicker and the stitches came out after a couple of weeks. But I didn't manage to get in much training. And Slytherin did win the Cup that year."

"But you still managed to beat me."

Propping himself up on an elbow, Harry stared down at Draco. The movement had allowed his knee to slip between Draco's legs. "Yes, Malfoy, I guess I did. Let that be a lesson to you."

Draco raised his knee slightly and pressed his leg against Harry. "I intend to set the record straight in four weeks, Potter."

"I doubt that very much, not with your current team anyway," Harry scoffed, pushing back against the leg.

"Would you like to wager a bet on it?"

"With you?" Draco's eyebrow rose sardonically and Harry found a slight smile growing on his face. "And what is this wager?"

"If I beat you, you'll turn up at breakfast the next morning wearing Slytherin Quidditch robes."

Harry burst out laughing. "You're joking."

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

He didn't, Harry decided. In fact Draco looked very, very serious. "What would everyone say? It would cause an uproar."

"No more than that Slytherin T-shirt you wore. Isn't it time I had a little revenge?"

"And if I win?"

"You aren't going to."

"But in the slim chance that I do beat you as I've done every other time we've played, including while seriously injured?"

"Then I'll acknowledge the fact by wearing Gryffindor colours." 

Harry would have rubbed his hands with glee if they hadn't been preoccupied with absently running over the Slytherin's flesh. "Ron is just going to love this," he chortled.

Draco froze. "No, neither team must know about this until the game's over."

"Okay. I don't have a problem with that." Harry leaned towards Draco and placed a kiss at the base of his breastbone. He looked at the spot for a moment, studying the small indent there, before cautiously licking it. "Especially as you are going to be the one dressing up." He suddenly disentangled himself from Draco's arms and legs and sat up, casting a critical eye up and down the blond boy. "I wonder if my robes will fit you or if I'll have to borrow a set from someone else?"

"Well, mine will fit you, though a short-arse like you will have to be careful not to trip over the hem." Harry glowered at him and in response Draco grinned, reaching out a hand to run over Harry's arse. The touch started lightly, but slowly grew in intensity. "Do we have a wager?"

"I am going to fly you out of the sky, Malfoy."

"We'll see, Potter. Now, what would you like to do to seal the bet?"

Harry looked at the Slytherin, chewing his lip in thought. If he'd been able to see inside Draco at that moment, he would have realised just how tightly the blond was holding himself in control. Harry was kneeling naked beside him, his hair wild and messy, green eyes dancing, and now he was chewing at his lip. Draco wanted to turn him over the back of the sofa and take him right there and then.

Fortunately for Harry, he was completely unaware of these lust-filled emotions, even though he was feeling rather eager himself. "I have an idea," Harry finally said, the chewed lip red and ripe for the taking.

"A Gryffindor with a plan? This should prove interesting." Draco's voice was a soft murmur.

"We do plan, it's just that we're not as sneaky and twisted as Slytherins."

"Which is why they never work. So, Potter, what is this idea of yours?"

"Well, Malfoy, I thought that... well..." Harry swallowed, not knowing what to say and realised he was quite probably colouring up. Draco was sitting with his arms folded now and looking at him with a detached aloof expression on his face. It reminded Harry of the way Draco looked at him whenever he had made a mistake in class. It was the look that always made Harry want to slap Draco's face and he was itching to do this now. His eyes darkened and he held the grey gaze. "I thought I would do this."

His fingers closed around Draco and he squeezed.

It had been the last thing Draco had expected and he let out a shocked cry. "Harry!" The expression on Harry's face changed to one of innocence and he gave Draco a look which said 'who me?'

Except the expression was more truthful than Harry would care to admit. He'd been thinking about this almost from the first moment he had seen Draco naked, but now he was actually holding him, Harry was scared to death. Now what the hell should he do? _Stupid question, Harry, you know what to do. Didn't you do it to yourself earlier?_

In a voice much calmer than he actually felt, Harry finally spoke. "Can I touch you?" He'd planned to ask that before doing the grabbing, but somehow the order had turned out wrong. If Draco noticed, he said nothing about it. Instead he just nodded, his face a picture of surprise and pleasure.

Harry shifted down the sofa until he was at the same level as Draco's hips. He lay beside the long legs of his adversary and finally looked at his own hand. "Oh my," he sighed as he realised just how intimately he was touching Draco and what his reaction to that touch was.

Draco groaned quietly and Harry glanced back at him. The blond was watching, eyes wide, mouth open very slightly, his breathing very shallow. He could even see the butterfly beating of Draco's heart beneath his ribs. Still watching, Harry squeezed. Draco's mouth opened a little more as his breathing hitched, but he made no sound. 

Oh yes.

"Harry." His name was breathed out with a sob, Draco's hand closed into his hair, the fingers urgent as they tugged at the curls. Draco's face was flushed, his eyes bright, almost black. The flushed skin continued down his neck, spreading across his chest. Green eyes flickered from the face to the dark pink circles surrounding Draco's nipples. A light sheen of sweat glistened on the pale skin and Harry knew he just had to touch. His hand trailed up the Slytherin's torso before tracing a fingertip over first one and then the other hard pink nipple.

"Harry, please."

Please? Draco had said 'please' to him. Not just 'please', but was he actually pleading? A dark little smile flickered across Harry's face as he reached the hand up to Draco's mouth, fingers brushing the parted lips. He pushed a little, and the Slytherin took the fingers in, licking and nibbling at them.

With a self-satisfied smile, Harry looked at Draco's face, but the intensity of the expression that looked back left him gasping. The frost-covered eyes pierced into his being, holding him prisoner as effectively as chains and bars. Draco Malfoy might have the Gryffindor's fingers in his mouth, but the look oozed dominance and control. It sent a flush of excitement flooding through Harry. The sensation condensed in his groin and it felt like a fist was twisting his insides.

Draco finally released the fingers and spoke in a voice that dripped seduction. "I hope you're going to finish this off, Potter. I don't like people who tease and don't carry through. They usually end up regretting it." Draco's tongue licked Harry's palm, before quickly sucking the fingers one more time.

Harry met the look and tilted his head to one side. "I always finish what I start, Malfoy. You should know that by now." He gave a sweet little smile as he grasped Draco again and was rewarded by the same look of surprise that his first touch had provoked. _So much for the 'I'm in control' Draco,_ Harry mused. In fact, hadn't Draco just mewled like a kitten? He swept his hand up and down the hardness.

"Oh god." The words were part of a low sobbing sound that rumbled through Draco's body. His hips jerked and twisted, rising an inch or two up from the sofa. "Harry."

The Gryffindor's response to the way Draco had moaned his name was simple. He leaned closer and finally tasted the Slytherin. It was a taste he would never forget and one that would always fill him with delight. It was also the beginning of a bond that would survive almost everything.

But on that wet Sunday morning, the two young men didn't care about the future. In fact neither were particularly concerned about the rest of the day - even the next hour seemed a lifetime away. They both became very still; an unmoving tableau in a room caught in time between one tick of the clock and the next. The blond head was laid back on the cushions, wide grey eyes turned unfocused towards the ceiling. The dark head was lying on the warm flesh of a hip; wide green eyes focused with a clarity his eyesight didn't normally allow on the warm, living work of art before him.

Overloud to Draco's suddenly sensitised hearing, the clock ticked forward another second. The sound echoed through him as though in slow motion. He had daydreamed of this moment for so long that it had turned into something he never thought would actually become reality. And yet...

And yet...

Harry didn't daydream much about Draco. Well, he reminded himself he _did, _but his involved pinning the Slytherin down and beating the crap out of him or something similar. Yet this felt so right. So perfect. And yet...

And yet...

The clock ticked forward and the rain dripped noisily from the roof.

The growing knot of tension in Harry's belly threatened to explode as he studied Draco and the silky luster of his skin. It glistened with a soft sheen of moisture. Beguiling. Tempting. His breath stirred the blond hair around the base of this living sculpture and he blew gently, watching the way the hair and flesh reacted.

A rumble of thunder turned into a whimper of desire and Harry knew he just had to use his mouth. As the clock ticked again, he lifted his head from the soft cushion of Draco's hip and....

The slow-motion moment suddenly smashed into real-time, burning reality crashing through both boys, threatening to drown them in a kaleidoscope of colour, texture and emotions.

Crash and burn...

Someone cried out, but neither was sure who had made the sound. 

Bodies moved, wanting immediate release but neither receiving it. 

Draco swore, but the word resonated in Harry's mind as if he had vocalised it.

For both, their worlds condensed down to this one single precious moment.

An intimacy unlike anything either had ever experienced.

Holding.

Tasting.

Cries of pleasure mingling with the crack of thunder.

White-hot pulses of release mirrored with blinding flashes of lightning.

Knives of pleasure cutting away the poison of past animosity and loathing.

Stillness.

Ragged breathing.

The tick of the clock regulating beating hearts, returning time to normal.

Slowly, Harry pulled away and wiped a trembling hand across his mouth. His tears mingled with Draco's juices and he looked around for something to clean himself with. Fingers closed around the green and silver cloak and he realised he was shaking. Clutching the material to himself he sat back on his heels and finally buried his face in the cloth. He didn't know what to do. There was a part of him that wanted to run away from this. To hide from the incredible emotion that was currently surging through him. He hadn't expected to feel like this.

Minutes ... possibly hours ... later, he finally looked up. Draco hadn't moved. He laid there, body tense, one arm thrown across his face hiding his eyes. Green eyes tracked briefly down the body and Harry saw there were scratch marks around Draco's lower abdomen. He looked down at his own body and found there were matching marks on his arms. What had they done to each other?

Harry took a deep breath and with exaggerated care, crawled to Draco's side. He draped the cloak over both of them and reached for the Slytherin. It took him a few moments to pull the resisting boy into his arms, but finally the blond settled against him. Pulling the cloak over Draco's shoulder, Harry looked at his face for a moment before brushing the hair back behind Draco's ear.

Draco resisted because he didn't know how else to act. He could feel Harry's fingers in his hair, the touch strangely intimate. And those surprisingly strong and supportive arms around him, holding him against Harry's warm skin. He wanted to tell Harry how he felt at, but he couldn't. It was too personal. Too terrifying. He struggled to blink away unshed tears, both awed at the unexpected depth of emotions, and desperate to convince himself this was all nothing. That it was, after all, just sex.

Just sex, he reminded himself over and over.

Just sex.

********************

The sky was dark with heavy rain-laden clouds. They pressed down on the ancient stonework of the castle making the interior almost as oppressive as a sultry summer's day. In fact, the clouds were so low that the man staring out of the tiny window felt he could reach out and touch them. Rain beat against the leaded windows through which the wind had managed to find its way. He didn't like working on days like this. The turret, where the room he was currently in was located, was normally ignored by everyone; the staircase to it narrow and dark. But a wet Sunday afternoon like this was an ideal time for people to be wandering around the castle looking for things to occupy themselves. Someone might just decide to explore.

Still, if they got as far as the room, they would have to unlock the door. The wards on the locks would scare most of them witless and send them running way. Anyone who did manage to get in would find nothing but an empty room. The protection spells he had cast would keep all prying eyes away.

He turned from the window and gazed for a moment at the single candle that lit the room. The flickering light illuminated the features of the room's other occupant, making him look sallow in stark relief against his black robes. He was kneeling on the cold stone floor, his eyes closed, a raised hand circling over the flame. 

"Well, Cloud?" he whispered to the kneeling figure. "What do you see?

Eyelids flickered open, excitement in the pale eyes. The room pulsated with ancient magic. _His_ magic. Sucked by his incantations from the very walls to be transmuted into whatever suited his needs. Of course some people would call the magic 'Dark', but he knew the difference.

There is neither dark nor light. There is no good and evil, there is only power, and those too weak to seek it.

His gaze became unfocused, no longer looking at the stone wall before him. They were focused somewhere else in the castle -- in another room -- on another person. "He's looking into himself. Looking at memories." Without glancing at the candle, Cloud picked up a pinch of powder from a small silver dish beside him and sprinkled it onto the flame. It flared upwards, producing a thin almost transparent sheet of iridescent smoke. Within the shimmering swirls, a dark-haired figure emerged; lying on his side, head rested on one elbow, his other hand slowly turning the pages of a book. "The dragon's working, I can zero in on him without any problem now."

"Good," the one known as 'Shadow' finally replied. " Are you ready?"

Focus returning to the room, Cloud snatched a hand out towards the figure in the smoke. His fingers yanked at the image and it collapsed as he drew his arm swiftly back. Then, taking a deep breath, his eyes dropped to the floor and the crumpled sheet of parchment that he had carefully laid beside the silver dish before starting the ritual. 

He picked up the creamy coloured paper and held it between his hands as if trying to stretch it flat again. Some of the red wording had smudged when the author had screwed the sheet into a tight little ball while the ink was still wet. But the meaning of the words was still clear.

"Is that the original?"

Cloud nodded. "He doesn't realise what he now has is a copy."

"Of course not. How could he? You've learned your lessons well." Shadow's hand dropped onto Cloud's shoulder in an almost parental fashion. "It's time to start removing Mr Potter's protection layer by layer."

"I could do it in one go."

"But we couldn't hide that from him. No, we will strip it from him one piece at a time and we'll replace it with our own. By the time he realises it will be too late."

"Yes." Taking hold of the edge of the parchment, Cloud began chanting the Summoning Words. As he did so, he began to twist the paper as if wringing out a piece of fabric. A splash of red blossomed on the stone by his knees and he quickly held the paper over a small stone bowl. His hands and incantations stripped the lettering from the page like blood dripping from an open wound. Finally satisfied he had every last drop, he opened the parchment again. Its surface was completely blank.

He held the blank sheet to the candle, waiting for the edge to catch light. "You should be more careful, Harry. Words are power." The blackened ash mingled with the blood-red ink

With a slight smile, Cloud looked at Shadow, and nodded at him. "I'm ready."

********************

_I spoke about wings_

_... You just flew_

_I wondered, I guessed, and I tried_

_... You just knew_

_I sighed_

_... But you swooned_

The Whole of the Moon - The Waterboys

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

**Chapter 4 (part 2): Darkness Rising **

Who are Shadow and Cloud? Why is Sirius at Hogwarts? How will Harry and Draco cope with Potions on Monday? Preparations for the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin (who else would it be between?). The Astronomy Tower (what H/D would be complete without at least one visit here).

**Author's note:** The August Bank Holiday is a public holiday in the United Kingdom that falls on the last Monday in August. In 1996, when Harry had his accident, this was on 26th August. I have assumed Harry would have started his sixth year at Hogwarts on Monday 2nd September.

**Thanks to EVERYONE** for being so very patient in waiting for this chapter. It's been a difficult summer and writing hasn't been easy. The support of people around me has help tremendously and I am very grateful for the kindness I have received over the last few months.

**Thanks to all who have reviewed and commented on Chapter 3** at FictionAlley, FanFiction.net, Worlds_Colliding, LiveJournal and via email. I have tried to respond to as many of you as possible, but not everyone left an email address. Your comments are always welcome and I enjoyed reading them all. Thanks.

**Special thanks**

**To my Betas **(in alphabetical order): _Ash, Alex, Debbie, Ina, Milena, Penguin, Tine_ and _Zed. _These people have been patient, supportive and without them the chapter would never have gotten finished. I have made them read and reread scenes until they must be fed up with everything. Yet they still managed to find the time to help.

**To Plumeria** for helping me with the R-rated version of this chapter.

**To everyone on at Worlds_Colliding for their support and inspiration.**

**Artwork: **I am very lucky to have new had some artwork drawn for Resolution. **Bhanesidhe** and **Milena's** artwork for this chapter is highlighted throughout the chapter. Also, please check out **TK Yuy's** wonderful drawings of Harry and Draco in their Valentine clothes from Chapter 3. If the artwork links don't work, please go to:

**There are now two Yahoo groups: **

The adult group for _Resolution_ (where the NC17 version of this chapter is available) can be found at: Worlds_Colliding: The Restricted Section http://groups.yahoo.com/group/HP_Worlds_Colliding_2/

The general group can be found at Worlds_Collinding http://groups.yahoo.com/group/HP_Worlds_Colliding/ . The R-rated version of _Resolution_ and my non-slash story _Coming of Age_ can be found here.

Any reviews are more than welcome, either here on the Fiction Alley Board (click on review), to me at frances@forever.u-net.com or feel free to post your comments at Worlds_Colliding


	5. Darkness Rising

**Please note: I've had loads of problems in setting this chapter up for HTML. If you are unable to read what follows, please go to the following location where there is a readable version:**

http://www.schnoogle.com/authorLinks/Frances_Potter/Resolution/ 

------------------------------

**Title: Resolution. Chapter 5: Darkness Rising (5/?)**

**Author name: **Frances Potter

**Author email:** frances.potter@tesco.net

**Category:** Slash (Harry/Draco), Humour, Romance, Angst

**Keywords: **Harry, Draco, 7th year, Slash

**Spoilers: **All books

**Rating: **R. Slash. Male/Male sexual relationship. Language. Adult themes.

**Summary:** res·o·lu·tion, noun -- solving of doubts, problems, questions etc. _The Concise Oxford Dictionary_

When you've spent six years fighting evil, all you really want is a quiet time. But when your name is Harry Potter the chances of that are very slim. Exams, friends, lovers, enemies, Quidditch, birthdays, the war and Draco all conspire to make Harry's final six months very, very complicated and the end of term a long way off. Slash (Harry/Draco)

**Chapter 5: Darkness Rising. **Ron's cross, Hermione's curious, Snape is intent on giving everyone detentions, Dumbledore's serious and Sirius is back.

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

The concept of Earth magic and seeing stones are both based loosely on ideas in _"The Amtrak Wars"_ books by Patrick Tilley (published by Sphere).

**Dedication: **_For cats everywhere. _They give us so much pleasure even when sitting on computer keyboards.

------------------------------

_One may say that evil does not exist for subjective man at all, that there exist only different conceptions of good. Nobody ever does anything deliberately in the interests of evil, for the sake of evil. Everybody acts in the interests of good, as he understands it. But everybody understands it in a different way. Consequently men drown, slay and kill one another in the interests of good_ -- Gurdjieff (1873-1949)

------------------------------

**Chapter 5: Darkness Rising**

**_Diagon Alley ... Wednesday 26th July 1995 ... The Summer after the Triwizard Tournament ... Early afternoon_**

Ron Weasley wandered bsently up and down the rows of wooden shelves. There were so many books on the groaning shelves that he really didn't know where to look first. Occasionally the title on one of the spines would grab his attention and he would slide the tome out and flick through the yellowing pages before returning it. At 15 years of age, the last place Ron really wanted to be was in the reference section of the Armando Dippet Memorial Library.

He had finished his fourth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry a few weeks ago and his mother had been determined that Ron would not leave his summer homework until the last minute as he had done in previous years. She was also determined that he wouldn't just sit around wasting his time. Ron didn't think reading his Quidditch books or messing around with Fred and George fell into that category, but things were a bit different this summer.

People were on edge. Both his parents were incredibly serious most of the time and spent hours talking quietly either to each other or to his elder brothers. He wasn't included in these discussions because, as his father made it quite clear, he was too young to understand what was going on. Which was a load of rubbish because Harry had told him exactly what had happened during the Triwizard Tournament.

He knew about Voldemort's return, Cedric Diggory's death and how Harry had gotten away from the Dark Lord once more. He also knew that this turn of events made loads of people very worried, while others were leaping around with joy. His father had told him that Ron just didn't understand how serious things were because he'd never lived in a time when nasty things happened. That he should consider himself lucky to have lived in peace for all of his life so far.

Live in Peace? Ron didn't really consider that he'd lived in peaceful oblivion during his four years at Hogwarts. He wondered if his parents had ever really listened when he was telling them about how he had been involved in Harry's battles with You-Know-Who. How he'd helped get the Philosopher's Stone. What about all those spiders and the Whomping Willow that had nearly killed them? And saving Ginny's life and what had happened at the Shrieking Shack when they had finally found out who Scabbers really was.

Sometimes he just didn't understand his parents at all.

Ron paused in his perusal of the shelves. If _he_ had returned like Harry had at the end of the Tournament and tried to tell the same story, would people have believed him? It was, after all, only Harry's word about what had happened to Cedric. Only Harry's word that Voldemort and his Death Eater followers had been in the cemetery.

But Harry wouldn't lie ... would he?

Ron reached for a book, sliding it a little way out before pushing it back again. The assignment was to write about a famous witch or wizard, which should be easy if he could just decide whom to write about. He wondered how Harry was coping at the moment, locked away at his uncle and aunt's with no access to anything except his standard schoolbooks. Assuming they let him have those.

Was that true? Did they really lock Harry up and starve him? Ron had seen the bars on Harry's window when he and his twin brothers had rescued him; but could things really be that bad? Maybe Harry was just trying to get sympathy.

And maybe Harry had cheated and put his name into the Goblet.

Cross with himself for even thinking this, Ron grabbed a heavy book about Agrippa and turned back toward his table.

And straight into a tall, dark-haired young man.

The book fell from Ron's hands and landed on the floor with a loud thud. Several pairs of eyes snapped up and he found himself being glared at by the people sitting around the library.

Strong hands reached out, gripping at Ron's shoulders. "Hey, slow down," a deep voice whispered. "You don't want to go rushing around in here. You could end up knocking someone over." The man winked at Ron, his sapphire blue eyes gleaming. "And there are some really serious people here." He nodded in the direction of a particularly studious-looking wizard who was muttering something to himself. Ron couldn't help but smile.

The man crouched down and picked up the book. He remained crouched as he looked back up at Ron. "Agrippa? Don't tell me, you're a Hogwarts student and your summer assignment is an essay on a famous witch or wizard."

Ron nodded, both terrified by the stranger and intrigued at the same time. "Yes." The man looked to be about the same age as his brother Charlie and he wondered if the two had been at Hogwarts at the same time. He realised the man was holding out his hand towards him.

"David Tom Morrello." The smile on the stranger's face seemed genuine enough and Ron finally took hold of the hand, shaking it. 

"Ron Weasley." Ron shifted slightly. "Did you go to Hogwarts?" 

"Yes I did." The man straightened, pushing a shock of black curls from his face. "There was a Weasley in Gryffindor while I was there. I think his name was Charles."

"My brother -- Charlie," Ron responded. His agitated stance lessened under the man's quiet tones.

"Well, Ron, between you and me, I hated summer assignments. They were always so difficult to do, especially when I would rather be playing with my friends."

"I know." Ron took the book back from the stranger. "I should get on."

"Of course. Good luck."

"Thanks." Ron pushed past him and quickly returned to the desk where he'd left his things. Grabbing hold of his quill, he found a roll of parchment and wrote the title of his assignment on the top. The dark-haired man was now sitting at a desk close by, his long fingers slowly turning the pages of the book in front of him.

He looked up, catching the boy's furtive glances, and smiled.

********************

**_Slytherin House ... Sunday 15th February 1998 ... Early afternoon_**

Travelling by Floo powder was Draco's least favourite method of transport. It was dirty and uncomfortable, but it did serve its purpose. Thanks to his father, Draco's own private Floo network was untraceable and let him get from his room to Hagrid's little cottage without having to brave the elements or having to explain to people where he was going. As far as his fellow Slytherins were concerned he had been shut up in his room all day studying, which wasn't such an unusual occurrence.

And, of course, Harry knew nothing of his private transport system either -- the Gryffindor had been in the shower when he had arrived and had gone to the bathroom when Draco had decided it was time to leave.

He wondered what Harry's reaction had been to finding him gone. For some reason Draco couldn't bring himself to go through the rigmarole of 'leaving', especially not after the emotional aftermath of what Harry had done to him. It wasn't that he'd expected any sort of emotional blackmail from Harry as some of his fellow students had tried over the last couple of years -- demanding to know when they could meet again, wanting him to swear never-ending fidelity. Harry wouldn't do any of those things. But to stand in front of him and meet those green eyes wide with longing -- how could he walk away from that? For fuck's sake, he could feel his heart rate (and other things) rising just thinking about it.

So, when the dark-haired boy had disappeared into the bathroom, Draco had taken his chance to leave the way he'd arrived.

For several minutes he stared at the fire. It had burned out while he was away and the grate stared back at him -- empty and devoid of heat. A bit like the way he felt at that moment, empty and devoid of the heat that was Harry. _You could go back, _a voice whispered in his head. P_otter might still be there ... waiting for you. _But Draco knew he wouldn't ... mustn't ... go running back after the Gryffindor yet again.

"If Harry wants me, then let him come to me," Draco told the empty fireplace.

He spun away from the fire and stalked over to the laundry basket tossing away the bundle of stained garments he had brought back. Yet _another _reminder of Harry. Why did everything have to invoke memories of him? He could still smell Harry on his own skin and his mantra that it was "just sex" was beginning to sound old and stale to his mind.

Why the hell had he ever gone and put himself in this position? How the hell was he ever going to face Potter again after what they had done? He was a bloody stupid fool who'd let himself get caught up in the moment without thinking of the consequences.

With a bitter laugh, he pulled his cloak from his naked body. He was even lying to himself now. Hadn't he been considering the consequences for days ... weeks even? Hadn't he gone over and over what might happen if he allowed himself to fall into those arms?

All but throwing himself onto his bed, Draco buried his head beneath a pillow.

What a fucking mess he was making of everything.

********************

**_Gryffindor Tower ... Early evening_**

Harry was soaked by the time he arrived back at Hogwarts, rain dripping from his cloak as he strode through the quiet corridors to the Gryffindor Common Room. He had briefly considered using a drying spell on his clothes, but leaving them wet would give him an excuse to disappear straight to his dorm and, hopefully, avoid any questions. He didn't want to talk to anyone at the moment, least of all his nosy dorm mates who would interrogate him mercilessly over his whereabouts since the previous evening.

He wondered briefly how Draco would explain his absence for most of the day, and decided that the Slytherin wouldn't even bother explaining. He would simply raise an eyebrow and quell any further questions with a look.

The corridor outside the entrance to Gryffindor Tower was silent when he finally reached the portrait of the Fat Lady. She smoothed down her pink dress as Harry approached and favoured him with a smile. Harry didn't have a favourite aunt, but he had decided several years ago that if he had, then this was the way she would smile at him.

"Good evening, Master Harry. You should change out of those wet things or you'll catch your death."

Harry pushed damp hair from his face. "I intend to. Where is everybody?" He glanced up and down the corridor. Normally it would be busy at this time with people coming back from dinner or going off to meet their friends.

"Haven't you heard?"

"Heard what?"

"Ah, you will see. Now, come on dear, what's the password?"

"Heffalump." He muttered the current password; giving a silent prayer that next month's would be better. The passwords needed to gain access to Gryffindor Tower had always been a little strange, but they were getting more and more bizarre. It had started last September when Hermione had instigated a 'password suggestion box' where people could leave their inspired choices. Someone would then get the chance to choose one of the suggested words for use over the next month. At least 'Heffalump' was better than last month's travesty. Harry still couldn't say 'Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious' without getting tongue-tied. 

"Prepare yourself, my dear."

Harry frowned at the Fat Lady, puzzled by her comment. When the painting swung back, a cacophony of noise spilled through the portrait hole out into the corridor. He took a step backwards.

"I did warn you," she chuckled.

The Common Room was heaving with what looked to be every member of Gryffindor House. What the hell was going on? The room was normally busy after dinner, but this looked like a party. Had he forgotten someone's birthday?

"Thanks," Harry sighed. His plans for a quick getaway were beginning to look like coming to nothing.

********************

When he was eleven years and six months old Ron had gone with his family to King's Cross railway station. Of course he'd made the journey several times before, but this time it was different. It was 1st September 1991 and he was starting his first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He had been looking forward to that day for ages. He looked forward to finding out what being a wizard was _really_ like, to making new friends and to finally being more than just another 'Weasley' child. He had been sick that morning, the excitement of going away to school competing with the fear of leaving home for this new world. He'd never told anyone how scared he felt or how pleased he was to know that Percy, Fred and George would be there at Hogwarts as well.

He'd received a very open upbringing for a pure-blood wizard. His parents had taught him that while Muggles might not be as enlightened as Wizards, they were people anyway and should be treated as such. He knew that having Muggle blood in your family line wasn't the stigma some pure-blood Wizards thought it was, and he knew that Muggle-born Wizards could be just as good at magic as pure-blood. In fact, by the time he made that first journey to Hogwarts, his family had shaped all of Ron's views of right and wrong.

Back then he saw no reason to doubt any of their assertions.

Now, more than six years later, Ron looked back on that day as a catalyst. This was not because it was the beginning of learning to make up his own mind and of having his own views, however. It was because he had met one Harry James Potter, and Ron knew that meeting had changed everything.

Looking back now with the benefit of hindsight, Ron knew he had, indeed, managed to move out of the shadows of his five brothers. But instead of being in the sunlight, he had stepped into an even bigger shadow cast by Harry. In fact, he couldn't decide which was worse; being 'another Weasley,' or gaining his reputation as 'Harry's sidekick'. Of course, this hadn't really concerned him at first. He loved being with Harry and Hermione -- loved the cloak-and-dagger world of solving riddles and beating evil forces. They were best friends. They were 'The Dream Team'.

Then everything changed when they started their Fourth year and Harry somehow managed to be selected for the Triwizard Tournament. 

It hadn't been Harry's fault he'd been picked, but somehow that didn't matter to Ron -- it was the fact that Harry was once again in the limelight while Ron played second fiddle. No, it was worse than that. This time Ron wasn't even Harry's sidekick ... Harry had done this alone and Ron had been on the sidelines like everyone else.

It still smarted years later, but Ron knew it had been another catalyst in his life. The summer after the Tournament had been the one when things had changed ... when he had ceased to see himself as an add-on to The Boy Who Lived. He'd learned new things and new ideas that summer from people who taught him he was as special and important as Harry or anyone else. That he was a person with his own needs and wants.

But despite this, it still smarted that, in spite of everything, it was Harry who received all the plaudits. Ron realised now that he had only been picked as a Prefect because Harry had turned it down. He knew he was an excellent Keeper, but he now wondered whether Harry had been responsible for his inclusion on the Quidditch team in his fifth year. As for being the team captain, had Harry refused that as well? Is that why he'd ended up in the post?

Second-hand and hand-me-downs. The Story of Ronald Weasley's Life. Clothes, books, wands, captaincies. Nothing ever new. Only his because someone else had either finished with it or never wanted it in the first place.

Deep down in his heart Ron knew that Harry had never _wanted_ to be a Prefect, that he genuinely considered Ron to be a great Keeper and Captain, but somehow he couldn't help but see these positions as largesse handed down by the Prince of Gryffindor to one of his subjects. What made it worse was that others saw him as second choice. He remembered hearing people say that he'd only been made a Prefect because Harry had refused. And look who people praised to the roofs when Gryffindor won a Quidditch match. Was it the captain, whose strategy and daring had really won the match? No, it was the Seeker who had spent most of his time hovering above the action and doing bugger all with the exception of that one catch to end the game!

Not, of course, that he felt bitter or resentful. No, not at all! 

After all, wasn't this party in the Gryffindor Common Room for him? Hadn't it been set up to celebrate the fact he was now Head Boy? 

He looked around at the noisy gathering, his lips a thin line of annoyance. There were three reasons for his bad mood. The first being that the overriding discussion point was still why Justin Finch-Fletchley had suddenly left school. How many times had someone come up to him and said, "Well done, Ron, shame about Justin though" or "You were an ideal choice to replace him, Ron." No one ever said, "Justin was the wrong choice to start with, and it should have been you from the beginning."

The second was the fact that Harry still hadn't come back from wherever he'd spent the day and people kept asking where he was. They wanted to know why Ron's best friend wasn't here celebrating Ron's promotion. And as much as he tried to pretend that he wasn't concerned about Harry's absence, it really did grate on him. He placated himself with thoughts that Harry didn't know, but a little dark voice deep inside kept telling him that Malfoy would have told Harry about the fight and that Harry was currently consoling Malfoy over the loss of his broom and the stupid little cut on his neck. 

Malfoy was a Slytherin for god's sake -- he should know better. 

Which was the third thing -- the fact that instead of being with his friend of over six years, Harry was probably with the Slytherin right now. His confrontation with Malfoy kept replaying itself in Ron's mind as he tried to fathom out how he truly felt about Harry and what he had the most problems with -- that the Prince of Gryffindor might be gay or that he was shagging the Slytherin.

He didn't consider himself homophobic; it was more that he just didn't get it. He couldn't contemplate wanting to do anything physically with another man, so the idea that others might just seemed completely absurd to him. The idea that Harry might prefer having sex with a man rather than a woman made him shudder, but he could just about live with the notion as long as the subject of Harry's affection wasn't Draco Malfoy.

He hated Malfoy with a passion.

He'd hated him for six years five months and fifteen days.

Hated him since they had first met on the Hogwarts Express and Malfoy had made his snide remark about the Weasleys -- _No need to ask who you are. My father told me all Weasleys have red hair, freckles and more children then they can afford. _

Ron felt his jaw tightening at the memory, teeth grinding together. How he wished he'd managed an equally sarcastic retort back then -- something like _MY father told me ALL about the Malfoys as well, you arrogant little prick! _But he'd never been quick with off-the-cuff remarks like that. No, he was more likely to grab his wand and hex someone. Which was another reason for hating Malfoy -- the git always had a retort, always seemed to know just the right words to really hurt people.

Malfoy had even told Harry that some Wizarding families were better than others and although he hadn't actually said it, Ron knew what Malfoy was alluding to. He was telling Harry the Weasleys were somehow not worthy of The Boy Who Lived. Of course, he knew Harry didn't believe this. They had been friends -- best friends -- and Ron tried to remember that.

So it had continued throughout their school career -- Malfoy throwing insults at Ron about how poor his family was. He rubbed it into Ron's face that he could afford things Ron would have to save up for or would have to have second-, third- or even fifth-hand from his brothers.

Now it looked like Malfoy had finally managed to get what he had been after all these years. He'd wanted to take Harry away on that first day, but Harry had sensibly refused. What the hell had Malfoy done to finally turn Harry's head like this?

Ron shuddered at the thought of the two of them together. Of them....

No! He reached for his bottle of Butterbeer and took a gulp of the liquid. It was a shame it wasn't proper beer or whisky -- or anything alcoholic for that matter. He wanted something to take away the bad taste Harry's behaviour left in his mouth.

Just what was Malfoy's game? Did he really think he could turn Harry into a Death Eater or one of Voldemort's servants? Or was he just softening Harry so that he could hand him over?

Well, whatever the Slytherin was planning, it wouldn't work. Harry was his and he wasn't going to let Malfoy ruin everything. Not now. Not when he was so close.

********************

Harry climbed through the portrait hole and paused on the fringes of the gathering, his cloak dripping a pool of water onto the stone floor. A couple of people greeted him, and he watched as news of his arrival seemed to permeate through the gathering. As if on cue, he saw a distinctive red head bobbing through the crowd. Ron was quickly at his side, a smile lighting up his freckled face.

"Harry, were the hell have you been? People have been worried. You know you shouldn't just disappear like that." Ron reached out a hand towards his friend. It briefly brushed across the badge on Harry's cloak before pulling sharply back. "Yuck. You're soaking."

"It's chucking it down out there," Harry quickly replied, and as if to make the point, he dumped his bulging travel bag on the floor and shook his replacement Cleansweep, spraying water from the broom's twigs about him. "I've been at Hagrid's, trying to catch up on my homework." Which was actually true. When he realised Draco had gone, he had sat and sulked for about half an hour before turning to his schoolbooks with a vengeance. "What's going on?"

"Haven't you heard?"

"Not you as well. That's what the Fat Lady just said." Harry gave Ron a questioning look. "Heard what?" He wasn't sure, but he thought for a moment that the redhead had puffed out his chest and it suddenly struck him how alike Ron and his brother Percy were. He remembered the same stance when Percy was showing off his Prefect's badge.

Then Harry saw it. Glittering on Ron's chest was a discreet 'Head Boy' badge. His eyes widened in surprise as he met the equally glittering blue eyes of his friend. "Don't tell me -- you've finally managed to steal that from Justin."

Ron's face broke into a grin. "No. You have the privilege of meeting Hogwarts' new Head Boy."

"What? How?"

"Justin's left school."

"Left? But why?"

The taller boy gave a shrug. "Something to do with his father's work as far as we've been told. He got pulled out on Saturday. I can't believe you didn't know."

"How could I? I've been shut away on my own all day." Harry was sure he could feel a flush of colour creeping across his cheeks at the lie, and he quickly gripped Ron's shoulder with his free hand. "Bloody hell, Ron, this is brilliant. It's about time as well." He made to hug his friend, but was surprised to find himself pushed away. "What..."

"You're soaking wet, Harry." Ron reached out and tugged briefly on the clasp of Harry's cloak, the gesture one he had done several times in the past. "Go and get changed. Then you can join the celebrations."

"Okay. Save some Butterbeer for me." Harry took a couple of steps and then turned back. "Congratulations, Ron. You really do deserve this. It should have been you all along."

Ron watched as Harry disappeared into the throng of people. The dark-haired boy really seemed genuinely surprised at the news of him being made Head Boy and he appeared really pleased about it. Did that mean Malfoy hadn't told him? What about his fight with the Slytherin? Didn't Harry know about that either?

He folded his arms across his chest and began rhythmically tapping his foot on the stone floor. Could he be wrong about Harry and Malfoy? No, he reminded himself ... he'd seen proof that there was something going on between them. And hadn't Harry blushed when he said he'd been on his own all day? That could, he reminded himself, be because of the heat in the room and mean nothing at all.

What about the cloak? Ron thoughtfully rubbed the tips of his fingers, which had brushed against the heavy black material of Harry's cloak, against his own shirt. He'd touched both the badge and the clasp and there was no sign of residual magic left there. If Malfoy had been wearing that particular cloak and then used magic to repair it, there should be some sign of it. Of course, the Slytherin could have removed any traces of his work, but Ron knew there were ways and means to circumvent that. Malfoy wasn't as clever as he might like to think.

"Just you wait, Draco Malfoy," he murmured to himself. "Just you wait."

********************

After the noise of the Gryffindor Common Room, the Upper-Sixth dormitory was a haven of peace. Harry stood for a moment in the little area shared by the five boys and stared at the fireplace. A small fire crackled in the grate, filling the room with warmth and giving it a homely feel.

And it was home, certainly as far as Harry was concerned. Hogwarts was the closest thing to home that Harry had ever known and the people he had spent the last six and a half years with were his family. Ron, Hermione, Neville, Seamus, Dean, Ginny, Hagrid, Dumbledore...

How did Draco fit into this? Did he consider the Slytherin as part of his 'family'? Hadn't Draco had been there skulking in the background since his first day at Hogwarts? That had to make him as much a part of Harry's life as anyone else.

Did today change anything?

"Harry!"

He spun round at the sound of his name. "Hermione."

The Head Girl strode towards him and stopped. "Where on earth have you been?"

"I..."

"Do you know how worried I've been about you?"

"But..."

"I had visions of some dark wizard kidnapping you."

"Then why..."

"As for Malfoy..."

"Hermione!

She glared at him, but fell silent for a moment. "Are you going to tell me what happened?"

"No."

"Harry!"

He held out his arms, showing his soaked clothing. "I need to get changed and back down to Ron's party. Maybe later."

"I told you yesterday that we would talk." Hermione whipped out her wand and pointed it at him. "And I was serious." She muttered an incantation and almost immediately Harry began to steam as the spell dried the moisture from his clothes. He looked like some evil spirit rising from the smoking depths of hell as the white steam surrounded and hissed about him. When his clothes were finally dry Hermione looked at him smugly. "And why didn't you do that yourself?"

Harry shrugged. "It never occurred to me," he lied. Now dry, he removed his travel cloak and wrinkled his nose at the mud stains around the bottom. "I'll just go and clean this."

"Stop making excuses." Hermione grabbed the garment from his hands, gave it a practised shake and laid it over the back of a chair before pointing at the sofa. "Sit down."

"Here?" Harry looked aghast. "I'm not talking out here."

"Why not? It's perfect. We can hear people coming up the stairs and no one can lurk in corners listening to your smutty confessions. Let's face it, Harry, it might be nice that you all have your own little areas, but there's only a curtain dividing you from the rest of the room." She leaned towards him, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. "Anyone could stand on the other side and listen."

Harry finally nodded in agreement and dropped down on one end of the sofa. He waited for Hermione to settle herself at the other. "I don't have anything to tell you, Hermione."

She leaned forward a little. "Harry James Potter, it is now 6pm on Sunday evening. In the early hours of yesterday morning you asked me what I would think if you said you were gay. Twenty-four hours ago you sat about 30 feet from where we're currently sitting and said you were involved with Draco Malfoy, of all people."

"I did not!"

"Don't interrupt me. Then Malfoy asks me to send you on some wild goose chase last night. This morning you don't turn up for breakfast. Ron's had a fight with him..."

"What?" Harry suddenly sat up straight. "What do you mean? A fight? A fight with Draco?"

"Didn't Malfoy tell you?"

"No."

"Ah, then you have seen him today."

Harry opened his mouth to respond, saw a twinkle of success in her eyes, and instead just glared. "Possibly." She mirrored his expression. "Okay. I saw him. We talked. What fight?"

"Our beloved Ron caught Malfoy coming in late. They had an altercation on the stairs leading down to the Slytherin Dungeons and Ron decided it would be a good time to start acting as Head Boy. He took 25 points off him in about five minutes."

"Brilliant," Harry tutted. "That's all I need."

"And they ended up fighting. According to Malfoy, Ron grabbed his cloak and pulled so hard he broke the clasp and cut Malfoy's neck." 

Harry's eyes widened. "I never saw a mark."

"Well, I did. He went to the nurse to get it seen to." She frowned. "So, you spent time looking at each other's necks."

"I..." Trying not to look flustered, Harry realised he was pulling threads of cotton out of a cushion which had somehow found its way into his arms. He quickly put it down. "Stop twisting things, Hermione."

"Then tell me if he's gay as well, Harry."

"What?" Harry did his best to look shocked. "I'm not answering that. Have I asked you who you 'experimented' with?"

"No. But I bet you're dying to know." Harry gave a shrug. "Okay. Let me phrase this another way. Did you have a nice day?"

For several minutes the pair sat in silence. Harry stared at the flames and she stared at him. She could see he was chewing at his lip and his fingers were fiddling absently with the bottom of his jumper. Finally he turned his head slightly, looking back at her over his shoulder, leaning close. There was a sparkle in his green eyes and a very mischievous smile on his face. "Yes," was all he said.

"And did he?"

"You'll have to ask him that. Hermione, it was..." He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. "I feel..." He looked at her a little bashfully. "I think I understand what kissing is all about now."

"Oh?" She scooted a little closer to him; they both now had their arms draped along the back of the sofa, their limbs touching. "And did you ... enjoy it?"

"What do you think?"

"Well, considering you look like the cat who caught a big fat canary, I think the answer is probably 'yes'." Harry looked back at the fire, the bashfulness turning into a self-satisfied smirk on his face. "But Malfoy?"

"If I understood it, I'd tell you. I don't. It happened." He shrugged. "That's all I can say."

"Have you arranged to meet again?"

"No. Hermione, it was a one-off. We had fun, but that was it. He said as much and we both know the score." _And he left without a word, _Harry reminded himself. "His dad's a Death Eater, for god's sake. Talk about a relationship that's heading nowhere very fast." 

She gently rubbed at her friend's arm, watching as he gazed at the fire. His expression was one she hadn't seen before, one of want and need and longing. Malfoy might not want this to continue, but Harry was a different kettle of fish. It was clear that whatever had happened had touched on something deep inside Harry, and, as always, he wasn't doing a very good job of hiding what he felt. She knew from experience that Harry had very complex needs. He had also been starved of affection and contact throughout his life. That it should be Malfoy who had triggered this emotional need was bad enough, but what would Harry do if Malfoy didn't want him? Harry was so strong in most things -- a tower of strength -- yet his need to belong ... to be wanted ... sometimes ran too close to the surface for his own good.

It was clear to her that Harry was really smitten by what had happened and if he wasn't careful he would end up badly hurt.

Their thoughts were rudely interrupted by the sound of voices on the stairs. They looked at each other and realised the quiet interlude was about to end. It did, with the door bursting open and three people spilling in. Seamus, Dean and Neville had arrived.

And it was Seamus, his voice full of satisfaction, who took obvious delight in telling Harry the fate of a certain Slytherin's Nimbus 2001.

********************

**_Slytherin House _**

There was no party in the Slytherin Common Room. It was crowded, but much more solemn than the current activities in Gryffindor Tower. As Draco threaded his way through, he fielded comments about how his day had been, his views on Weasley's appointment and what he was going to do about his broom, but with practiced ease he didn't get drawn into the conversations. As people seemed to accept Harry as head of Gryffindor, he was seen as Harry's counterpart in Slytherin. Despite this, Draco now thought very carefully before giving his opinion on many topics. It wasn't safe to be outspoken anymore, even in the relative safety of his own school House.

The one thing he did still enjoy, however, was making people think their opinions were their own when, in fact, they were thinking and saying exactly what Draco wanted them to.

He strode out of the dungeons and climbed the staircase to the Entrance Hall. After over six years he was used to the climb, but for the first time he began to speculate why the Slytherin halls were situated in the lower levels of the castle when the other three houses had much more loftier environs. He remembered looking up at Gryffindor Tower a few times and trying to imagine what the rooms were like way up in the clouds. Wondering what it was like to have the sunshine in the morning or to look out over the Forbidden Forest instead of four walls and artificial lighting all the time.

Quickly he made his way up to the second floor where Dumbledore's rooms were located. There had been a message waiting for him when he'd gotten back from Hagrid's asking him to meet the old man at 8pm and, as always, Draco was a little early. His father hated tardiness and had instilled it in his son to arrive at the stated time.

Pausing before the stone gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster's rooms, Draco briefly checked his clothes. He'd chosen not to wear school uniform, but the plain white shirt and black trousers beneath his robes were smart and showed how seriously he took the meeting. His clothes, however, were the least of his worries.

Draco sighed as he glanced at the wall behind the stone gargoyle. He had no idea what of the password, therefore, couldn't get in. What a stupid bloody idea. It was one thing having passwords to private quarters, but not to the Headmaster's office of all places. He was just contemplating whether to leave when there was a grating of stone on stone. A doorway appeared in the otherwise blank wall and he could make out the wooden spiral stairs beyond. He stepped onto the bottom stair and rode the moving staircase upwards.

At the top, a second door was already open, but he knocked before stepping into the circular room. It was as he remembered from previous visits, a mishmash of tables covered with strange silver instruments that he longed to fiddle with. There was a room like this at Malfoy Manor where his father kept magical devices, but Draco wasn't allowed to touch those either.

Professor Dumbledore sat behind his enormous claw-footed desk. He gave Draco a benevolent smile and beckoned him in. "In you come, my boy, we've been expecting you."

The 'we' came as a shock to Draco as he realised he wasn't alone with the Headmaster. Seated on the other side of the desk, a dainty teacup in his hands, sat the Head of Slytherin House.

Draco paused on the threshold for a moment, wondering why Snape was there, but in the end moved to the proffered seat and sat down. Neither adult spoke as Dumbledore poured a cup from the matching teapot and placed it in front of Draco.

"You didn't join us for dinner," Dumbledore finally said.

"No, sir. I wasn't hungry."

"You shouldn't miss meals." With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore conjured up a large plate of sandwiches. "Help yourself."

Aware that both adults were watching him, Draco finally picked up a sandwich. Clearly that wasn't enough as they both continued to scrutinise him. Finally he took a bite. It was obviously the right thing to do, because Dumbledore began talking again.

"Now, Mr Malfoy. We need to talk about a couple of things. Your broom, for instance."

Nearly choking on a second mouthful, Draco quickly put the half-eaten sandwich down. "My broom?"

"Oh yes, my boy. Professor Flitwick and Professor Snape has been studying what remains of it for most of the day, and Professor Snape is here both in that capacity and also as your Head of House." Dumbledore indicated Snape with a flourish of his hand. "Now, Professor, perhaps you could tell us what conclusions you have come to."

Draco could feel Snape's black eyes boring into him, as if he could drag some as yet unknown information out through his skin. The look made him feel uncomfortable and he just wished the two would get on with whatever it was they wanted and let him go.

"Have you noticed anything different about your broom recently?" 

It wasn't the question he had expected. Somehow he thought they might ask him what he was doing out in the early hours of the morning. Maybe that would come later, he decided. "No, sir. I used it the previous day at team practice. It was fine."

"And did it feel any different when you returned to Hogwarts this morning? Different from when you left earlier?"

Had it? Draco wondered. He had been so angry with Harry that he didn't actually remember the trip back from Hogsmeade, let alone how the broom had flown. "I don't remember," he finally answered.

"Draco..." Had Snape called him by his first name? Draco tried to hide his surprise. "Your boom has been hexed. We found several very advanced spells attached to it, at least one of which was a tracking spell. The damage was also caused by a powerful curse, which used the broom's own magic to make it..." Snape frowned as if looking for the right words. "Self destruct."

His face a mask, Draco raised a single eyebrow. Underneath he was shaking. His father had told him he was being watched, but tracking charms? And someone had deliberately hexed his broom? It was lucky....

"You were lucky the broom didn't disintegrate while you were flying it." Snape seemed to read Draco's own thoughts and voiced his own fears.

"Draco..." This time it was Dumbledore using his name. Suddenly everything seemed to be very serious. "We believe your life may be in danger."

"Me? Why? It's not like I'm..." Draco paused. Like he was what? The son of one of Voldemort's followers? A Slytherin? A dabbler in the Dark Arts? A candidate for the Death Eaters? "Do you know how long the broom has been cursed?"

Snape picked up a twig from the desk, and Draco realised it had come from his Nimbus. "The tracking spells have been on it for some time." The professor passed the twig to his student. "It is impossible to tell how long the other hexes have been there. Has anyone threatened you?"

"No." Draco's response was clipped.

"My boy, this is very important." Dumbledore's eyes bore into the young man.

Finally Draco had to look away. He kept his attention on the twig in his hands, twisting it thoughtfully between his fingers. Finally he looked up again. "Unless you consider Weasley's actions a threat." 

Dumbledore tapped his fingers on the desk. "Very well. If you remember anything or if you want to discuss this further, please talk to Professor Snape or myself. Now onto other matters, though I think they are all probably related. I will be making an announcement tomorrow and you may very well hear from your father on this matter before then." Grey eyes snapped up again, meeting Dumbledore's eyes. "Voldemort's forces attacked Parliament yesterday. They killed several Aurors and stole some important artefacts."

"Oh." Draco tried his best to look shocked. He knew they expected him to be. After all, Malfoy Manor was less than 20 miles from the Parliament. But he had absolutely no fears for the safety of his home or his family. Except, he quickly reminded himself, that his father might have been injured in the raid. There was no doubt in his mind that Lucius Malfoy would have taken part in it. "I ... I need to talk to someone. To check that everyone is all right." He started fidgeting in his chair.

"We've checked and your family is well. They were unaware of the attack at the time and your father has said not to concern yourself. I also took it upon myself to explain the situation with your broom. He is worried about you, of course, and will be in touch." Dumbledore sat back in his chair and linked his hands together over his abdomen. "Draco, is there anything you'd like to tell me?" The voice was soft, but his blue eyes cut into the teenager like glass. "Anything at all?"

Draco tried not to wince under the intensity of the look. He suddenly wanted to tell these two people everything. About the Portkeys, that he thought he was being watched and followed, how he was sure Weasley was lying about how badly his leg had been injured the previous summer, the threats made to him on the stairs, Harry. 

Harry? Yes, even about Harry.

Instead he said nothing. "No, I can't think of anything."

The Headmaster gave him another of those penetrating gazes, and then relented. "Very well. Now, I want you to go back to your room and try not to worry about either the broom or the attack. Professor Snape and Professor Flitwick will find out who cast the spells. And the Ministry will deal with the attack. I understand they have offered additional protection to the Manor." With that, Dumbledore ushered Draco from the room.

As the door closed behind the boy, Snape glared at the Headmaster. "You were too soft on him. Someone tried to kill him and he's gone away thinking nothing of it. And he's lying. He knows more about this than he's telling us."

"My dear Severus, young Draco has gone away with enough things to occupy his mind. You can tell him he is in danger until you are blue in the face, but he won't believe you. As for his silence, he's been forced to bear secrets all his life. He's reached a very important crossroads and he needs to decide whom he can trust."

********************

**_Harry's Journal: Sunday 15th February 1998. Late_**

I'm here, back in my room, on my own, staring at the walls and wondering just what has happened to me.

Everything seems to be different -- changed -- since yesterday. 

Ron's moved out to his own room -- one of the perks of being Head Boy, so that's changed the feel of the dorm. I went and looked at his bed earlier and it's like he was never there. He only found out yesterday and everything is gone.

I miss him already. He was my first real friend -- still my best friend.

Hermione wants a blow-by-blow account of my day (maybe I should tell her, it might shut her up).

And I've changed. I can't have done what I did today and not change just a bit. I've been trying to think of words that conjure up what I feel and they are all pretty pathetic. Scared. Excited. Brilliant. Worried. Lost. Complete. Concerned. Touched. Emotional. Filled. Terrified. Desperate. Amazed.

Pathetic. I bet he's not sitting there contemplating what happened.

There's something else up with Ron besides the Head Boy thing. I know Ron hates him but the story of what happened down in the Entrance Hall is really strange. Ron won't tell me why they ended up fighting, so I guess I will have to ask him that. Plus Ron's become really standoffish. Normally we'd hug or slap each other's shoulders or whatever all the time, but twice ... make that three times ... since I've got back Ron's almost pushed me away.

What about _him?_ I can still taste him. Feel him. It's ridiculous.

Are you ready to actually name him yet, Harry? Or is he going to remain 'him' or '!' for ever? Face it, after what happened today it seems stupid to keep not mentioning him by name. Does writing his name down make it all too real?

Or is it because he just went and left without a word? He could have said "Goodbye" or something like that. And why didn't he tell me about the fight or his broom? Snape will never return my Firebolt for the Gryffindor/Slytherin match now. I bet Snape thinks Ron did it deliberately.

But his broom shouldn't have broken, not that easily.

Oh god, I've just realised something! Ron met him when he was on his way back to the school. He would have been wearing my cloak. What if Ron saw that? What if that's why Ron's angry with me? Maybe he thinks there's something going on between us.

Which, of course, there is ... was....

********************

Harry studied the cream parchment, and after a moment's hesitation he started to sketch in the half-page under the entry. It was the sofa at Hagrid's, complete with cushions and the green cloak from his Valentine's clothes, but there was no one sitting there. He didn't want people in it, not yet. Not when he had no idea what might happen next.

Then carefully, italicizing his letters, he inscribed underneath _I can give you tonight._

********************

In a small room at the top of a deserted tower, Cloud looked at Shadow, and nodded at him. "I'm ready."

********************

**_Monday 16th February 1998_**

Morning. The view from Harry's window was obscured by yet more rain and he stood there watching it splatter forcefully on the leaded glass. He'd planned to go and fly before breakfast, but even his love of flying didn't transcend this sort of weather.

Besides, he was feeling just a little irritable. And tired.

"Are you coming?"

Harry spun from the window and found Neville standing a few feet from him.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to make you jump."

Pulling off his glasses, Harry rubbed briefly at his eyes before replacing them. "It's okay. I was miles away."

"Are you all right?" Neville peered closely at his friend. "You look really pale."

"I'm fine." He looked back at the window. "I wanted to fly, but look at the rain."

"Rather you than me. Luckily we don't have to go outside today. Potions all morning, Transfiguration most of the afternoon and finally History of Magic. What more can a boy want?" Neville frowned thoughtfully. "I think I might just go outside and maybe try to drown myself."

Harry managed a small smile and patted the larger boy on the shoulder. "You'll be okay." He leaned closer. "Just think -- three hours with Pansy. Did you manage to get off with her on Saturday?" 

Neville's expression flipped between looking aghast to shyly embarrassed. "Well, um, Harry, she kisses like a suction pump!"

This time Harry laughed out loud. "You'll be okay, Neville. Come on, breakfast awaits."

Breakfast, of course, meant that Harry had to go to the Great Hall. It meant he would have to see 'people', and by 'people', he of course meant 'Draco'. This had been one of the things he had contemplated while watching the rain and his mood had swung between desperately wanting to see Draco again and never, ever setting eyes on the Slytherin for as long as he lived. It really did feel like the morning after the night before.

He could almost feel the blood rushing to his face as he approached the large doors leading into the Hall, and was grateful for the exuberant noise and laughter his friends were making.

The Great Hall's ceiling was covered in dark grey storm clouds, which seemed to permeate their gloom down into the actual room. If one looked upward, it appeared as if the clouds had darkened the top third of the room. Below the murkiness, more candles than usual struggled to compensate, the measure of their success being the fact that most people didn't seem to notice.

Harry did, but then he was trying to find something to look at other than the Slytherin table as he entered the Hall. In fact, he was so intent on NOT looking that he missed the punch line of Dean's story. His classmate thumped his arm and uttered, "Harry! You're not listening!" in a very loud voice. Harry's automatic reaction was to look at Dean who, unfortunately, was standing between him and the Slytherins. He tried to look at Dean's face, he really did! But his gaze was inexorably drawn past his friend and onto the upturned face of Draco Malfoy, who it had to be said, appeared to have no problems in looking at Harry. In fact, he poked Goyle in the ribs, nodded in the Gryffindor's direction and made some remark which those around him found excruciatingly amusing judging by their laughter.

_Oh, god, he's told them! I was bloody hopeless and that's why he disappeared without saying anything. That's what he told them. It's what he's reminding them of right this very minute. _Temporarily frozen to the spot, Harry was sure there was a neon sign over his head saying 'I gave Malfoy a blow job' in huge letters. 

The two boys made eye contact and two things happened. Firstly, Harry could feel himself becoming strangely warm -- a hot flush which zinged through his body making him feel just a little light-headed. Secondly, he could feel a strange liquid sensation growing in his stomach. It spread like warm syrup down through his body before collecting in a huge pool situated at the same level as his hips. 

He waited for what seemed like a lifetime but was, in fact, only a few seconds for Draco to look away, but he didn't. Instead the grey hooded eyes held the green gaze as Draco took a small bite from a piece of toast. The Slytherin's tongue dipped out, sweeping over his lips to remove the crumbs.

Harry swallowed.

"Sorry, Dean, what did you say?" Harry finally managed to mutter. 

"The punch line was 'it certainly does', but you missed half the joke anyway." The sound of laughter rose from the Gryffindor table and Dean grabbed at Harry's arm. "Come on."

Harry allowed himself to be drawn to the Gryffindor table. Just as he turned, Draco slipped a butter-covered finger into his own mouth and began to lick it clean.

Dragging his imaginary neon sign with him, Harry dropped into his seat, wishing the floor would just open beneath him. Colin Creevey was currently the centre of attention (which suited Harry just fine), as he showed off the photographs he'd taken at the Valentine Ball. Colin had turned into an excellent photographer over the years but had the unfortunate knack of always being just where you didn't want him, with his trusty camera almost welded to his hand. He was currently basking in the glory of people praising him and asking for copies.

Unable to bring himself to eat toast, Harry poured cornflakes into his bowl and was just going to add milk when someone leant against his shoulders. "Look at you, done up like a dog's dinner." A photograph of him in his green and silver robes slithered to the tabletop, but Harry wasn't interested. It was the familiar voice that made him look round.

"Sirius?" Harry stared, green eyes wide, as he tried to take in the fact that his godfather was standing behind his chair. "Sirius!" The chair scraped back and Harry dived from it and into the older man's arms. "What are you doing here? Why didn't you tell me you were visiting? What...."

Sirius drew his godson away from the table. "I wish everyone was as pleased to see me." Both looked back at the crowded room. Several people were clearly expressing their disapproval at the one-time criminal being at the school. "I can just see him rushing off to write to his father."

Harry followed the look and found it locked on Draco's face. The Slytherin no longer looked enticing, but instead had a strange scowl on his features. _Brilliant! They hate each other. _He quickly dragged Sirius around so that Draco was no longer in his line of sight. "I can't believe you're here."

"Well, it was a last minute decision. Professor Dumbledore asked me to come and teach. How could I refuse?"

Harry laughed. Not a little laugh, but one that shone in his eyes and made his face crease in delight. If he had still been watching Draco, he would have seen the Slytherin frown and then soften at the sight. It had a similar effect on his godfather who knew from Dumbledore's letters that Harry was a troubled boy after the events of the previous summer at The Burrow. "You? A Marauder? You're going to be a teacher?"

Sirius did his best to look hurt. "What's so funny? Remus teaches, so why shouldn't I?"

"Professor Lupin is a serious man who has the temperament to be a teacher. You, on the other hand, will be teaching people how to make stink bombs and how to glue teachers to chairs." Harry wanted to fall against the elder man's broad chest and feel the safety of those arms around him. Sirius was the closest thing he had ever had to a father and still Voldemort had conspired to take this father figure away from him. When Peter Pettigrew had been captured a little over a year before, the truth had finally come out; Pettigrew was in Azkaban and Sirius finally free to come out of hiding. Despite this, many people still thought Sirius had been the one who had killed a street packed with Muggles.

"I've promised Professor Dumbledore I'll be on my best behaviour." Sirius squeezed Harry's shoulder. "I'm helping Professor McGonagall with Advanced Transfiguration. Apparently several people in your year have shown latent Animagi talent and I'm going to help with their training."

"In which case you'll see very little of me then. That's one skill I don't seem to have inherited from my father."

"Oh, I don't know. Minerva tells me you have good transfiguration skills. Maybe between the two of us, we can see what talents you do have." Sirius ruffled his godson's dark hair. "We're going to be seeing a lot of each other and I know you have lots to tell me." He paused and Harry realised the Headmaster was beckoning from the top table. "I have to go and be officially introduced. We'll talk later, Harry. I promise."

********************

It was a very subdued group of students who left the Great Hall and headed for their classes. The silence was not because of the arrival of Sirius Black, though there was clearly some dissension in the ranks regarding his appointment as a teacher. Dumbledore had told them about the attack on the Parliament Building. One of the dead Aurors was John Cauldwell, father of Fourth Year Hufflepuff Owen. Until that point people hadn't seemed very interested ... after all, Parliament was a very long way from Hogwarts. But realising that a fellow student had lost his father brought the matter much closer to home. It didn't help that the boy's mother wanted him to stay at Hogwarts rather than to come home. The story quickly spread that Mrs Cauldwell thought her son would be safer at school.

And it was this thought that was being bandied about as the Upper-Sixth Gryffindor students wandered into the Potions classroom. They were still discussing it when Professor Snape appeared from his little office and, for once, he chose not to chastise them for their noise.

The talking continued as the group split to join with their Slytherin study partners, though concerns for everyone's safety didn't seem to figure that highly with the Slytherins. Harry dropped down into his seat next to Draco Malfoy, their assignation the previous day temporarily forgotten in favour of his godfather's arrival and the news of Voldemort's latest attack.

He busied himself with unloading his school bag, his face a study of concentration. So preoccupied was he, that he jumped when Draco finally spoke.

"Potter." For a second Harry looked like a child caught stealing from a sweet jar and Draco's lip curled in a slight smirk.

The returning sensation of syrup flowing through his veins made Harry feel like sobbing, but he finally found a voice not tinged with the sensation that was rapidly turning his legs to jelly. _This has to stop, _he chastised himself. _I can't go on like some lovesick teenager every time I see him. _

"Malfoy." He opened a scroll of parchment and concentrated his attention on it.

"So, your godfather's finally managed to get a job. It's not surprising he should end up here; no one else would employ him. Dumbledore's always had a soft spot for charity cases."

Harry's eyes snapped up and blazed green lightning at Draco, but the Slytherin missed the look as he was pretending to make notes on a piece of parchment. Harry could see the slight upturn of Draco's mouth and he knew the Slytherin was smiling smugly. He knew that he was trying to get a rise out of Harry. "You just can't help yourself can you? Would it hurt just once to say something pleasant?" Draco didn't respond or even look at up. "Just remember the saying, Malfoy. If you can't say something nice, don't say nothing at all!" Harry grabbed at his parchment, the warm syrupy feeling completely gone. "Pillock."

"What's that? More words of wisdom from the Collective Wit of Harry Potter? And it's 'don't say anything at all'. Didn't they teach you basic grammar at your Muggle school?"

The two boys glared at each other, the look cold enough to form ice crystals between them. "For _your_ information, it's a Muggle thing, but as you're too bigoted to try _anything _Muggle, you wouldn't understand." Harry frowned as remembered something else Draco had said. "And how did you know he's my godfather?"

Draco slowly leaned in until only inches separated them. "I know because, as you've told me countless times in the past, my father is one of the bad guys." He leaned even closer. "I know so much, I can even tell you what colour underpants you have on."

Harry opened his mouth to fire off a retort, couldn't think of one, and ended up doing exactly what he didn't want to. He tried to wipe any expression from his face, but knew he was looking bewildered.

It was one of the expressions Draco enjoyed seeing on the Gryffindor's face, probably second only to the look of bemusement which would rapidly turn into an embarrassing blush when Harry finally got the meaning of some snide Slytherin comment.

A shadow fell across them, and without moving, Draco slowly looked up. "Oh look, Potter, your big strong Head Boy has come to rescue you. Taken any more points, Weasel?"

Ron glared at the Slytherin and snarled his reply. "Is the Ferret bothering you, Harry?"

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Draco had butted in.

"Yes, Harry. Is the Ferret bothering you?" Draco turned back to Harry. "Well, am I?" The Slytherin slowly opened his mouth slightly and poked the tip of his tongue between his lips, waggling it twice. 

Harry nearly died on the spot as the look sent a wash of heat through him and it was all he could do to stop himself from licking his own lips. The wonderful snide comment he'd come up with was never spoken as he realised dark, beetle-black eyes were scrutinizing them. "Snape's watching," Harry hissed.

Ron glanced furtively around and met the Potions Master's stare. He turned back, scowled at Malfoy for a moment and mouthed, "Watch it" before moving off to the desk he was currently sharing with his study partner, Millicent Bulstrode.

"What the hell was that all in aid of?" Harry asked out of the corner of his mouth.

If Draco had intended making a response, his Head of House saved him from further comment.

"Silence!"

The sound of Severus Snape's voice echoed around the Potions classroom and immediately the entire class fell quiet, all eyes turned towards the teacher. "You will be pleased to know that you are halfway into your twelve-week revision period." There was a general murmur of relief throughout the class, but it was quickly quelled by the look of distaste Snape showed to the group. "You will also be pleased to know that judging from your current efforts, nearly every one of you will fail your NEWTs miserably." He glanced briefly at Draco Malfoy who appeared rather smug. "That includes you, Mr Malfoy. Every one of you failed at least one of last week's assignments." 

Draco looked suitably stunned. 'Failed' was not a term ever used as far as his Potions work was concerned. There was a general snigger from the assembled Gryffindors. They might have failed, but so had Malfoy. There must be justice at Hogwarts after all. Harry looked pleased because it was time Draco suffered at the hands of Snape. Ron was positively glowing over the statement.

"You are all being sloppy. Potions making is a precise art and you seem to have forgotten what the term 'precise' means." The Potions Master came to his feet and began handing out the students' work parchments. "Each of you will get a detention for the potion you failed on. If you failed both, you will get two detentions. If your study partner failed, but you personally passed, you will get a detention for not working close enough with your partner. These are supposed to be joint projects, not a competition to see who can turn out the best version."

Snape had expected the sound of dissent from his students, but they all appeared to be shocked into silence. He folded his arm and sneered at the class. "Detention will take place next weekend. You will spend Saturday here making the failed potions and you will remain here until I am satisfied they are correct. Those who failed both potions will return on Sunday when you will make the second potion. And your study partners will accompany you throughout your ordeals."

This time there was a murmur of discord in the room. Detentions were one thing, but the loss of their weekends was abhorrent to them all. Snape's lip curled in a tiny smile at the reaction.

"And the same will apply next week and the week after until the end of term. Failure will lead to detentions and all detentions will take place over the following weekend. Also, from each and every one of you I want twenty inches of parchment on the meaning of precision in potions making. To be handed in tomorrow. Now, I don't want to hear another word from any of you while I am giving out your assignments for the coming week."

Snape began making his way around the classroom, handing each study pair a slip of paper on which the two potions they would be making that week were written. By the end of their 12-week revision period the students should have covered all of the 24 potions that might appear in their NEWTs practical exam. And as each study pair had different potions, in theory they would not be able to rely on their classmates for help in their preparation.

The Potions Master finally came to a halt in front of the desk shared by Draco and Harry. Both boys were still carefully scrutinizing their papers from the previous week, trying to find out where they had gone wrong. "Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy." They looked up as one, both with almost identical frowns on their faces. "The potions you will be making this week are the Febrifuge Elixir and Night Dew. As Mr Longbottom and Miss Parkinson managed to produce a reasonable version of Night Dew last week, I expect something better from you. What is Night Dew, Mr Malfoy?"

Draco sat back in his chair, the concern over his apparent failure gone as he answered the question in a confident voice. "It's a potion used to help protect a person who's under psychic attack."

"Very good. And what's special about this potion, Mr Potter?"

Harry didn't sit back. He fiddled nervously with his quill as he tried to remember the basis of the potion. If he had been answering the question in a written test, he'd know straight away, but with Snape staring down at him and Draco watching with equal intensity, his brain suddenly felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool. "It's ... um ..." Then he remembered. "It uses star reading to work out what proportions the ingredients need to be in."

The response was rewarded with a grunt. "I have checked with Professor Sinistra and this rain front will have passed by early evening. You will both go to the main Astronomy Tower tonight to take the necessary readings. Mr Potter, as you are currently taking Divination and should know your own star readings, the potion will be made for you." He ended by dropping two small squares of paper on the desk. "These are your passes. Don't lose them."

*******************

Once, when Harry had been in his Second Year, he had counted the stairs leading down from Gryffindor Tower and then those leading up to the top of the Astronomy Tower. He didn't remember how many there were, but it was in the region of 'a lot'. For some reason he'd started counting when he left the Common Room to meet Draco for their Potions assignment. Unfortunately, he had lost count at about 200 when the Bloody Baron shot out of a wall, closely followed by a ghost Harry didn't remember ever seeing before.

Going down was easy. It was the long haul back up the Astronomy Tower he hated. Even as fit as he was, he paused to take a breath before tackling the final flight of stairs. It amazed him that the Tower was used for so many secret assignations. How any students could feel the urge for anything after climbing all these stairs, he had no idea. There just had to be more accessible places to meet people.

Not, of course, that meeting people was on his mind.

Finally reaching the door to the Observation Room at the very top of the Tower, Harry paused to pull down the hem of his jumper. Then, cross with himself for doing so, he deliberately stretched to ruck the garment again. He reached for the door handle, but his hand closed around nothing as the door suddenly swung open.

Draco stood framed in the doorway, almost a black silhouette against the soft glow of light spilling from the room above them. The light did that strange thing with Draco's hair Harry had noticed before, turning the white-blond strands into a halo around his face. 'Angel', thought Harry.

"You're late," the angel sneered, before floating up the final dozen steps that curved upwards. The stairs exited in the centre of the circular room at the top of the tower. The hole in the floor was surrounded by a waist high circle of banister, with a small opening the width of the staircase. Draco didn't look back as he crossed the room to a large map table.

"Git," Harry reminded himself as he stomped up the stairs and dumped his bag on the floor. Then, resting a hand on the banister, he surveyed the room.

The Astronomy Tower was circular, similar to Gryffindor Tower, and there were an assortment of classrooms and storerooms located on the floors below where he now stood. The main Observation Room, however, took up the entire top floor of the tower. It reminded Harry of a ring donut, with the hole in the middle for the staircase. A central entrance allowed the outer wall to be used for making observations, and there were many windows, each with its own brass telescope. There was a small doorway in the wall, leading out to a balcony running around the tower, and a narrow metal spiral staircase opened onto the tower's flat roof where there was a much larger telescope.

The layout of the room didn't allow for a fire, and once the windows were opened the room soon turned into a freezer. It didn't take long for the students to learn just how to dress for their astronomy lessons, especially at this time of year, and Harry had put on a thick green jumper under his warmest travel cloak. He had thought about wearing his latest Weasley jumper (maroon with a large yellow 'H'), which was deliciously warm, but the thought of Draco's seeing him in it was just too much for him to bear thinking about. 

He wondered how long the Slytherin had been there and cursed yet again the fact that Draco always managed to be in classes before him. Draco looked as unflustered as always and certainly not as if he'd climbed all those stairs.

Crossing over to the table, Harry stood on the opposite side from Draco and folded his arms. "How far have you got?"

"I've set up the telescope." Draco waved a quill in the general direction of one of the brass telescopes resting on its wooden tripod. "And set up some measuring equipment as well." He chewed thoughtfully on his lip for a moment as he checked something on the instruction sheet for the potion. "It's a good night for getting the readings -- the sky is crystal clear."

"Good, especially after all the rain." Harry retrieved a roll of parchment from his bag and spread on the table. "This is the information you asked me to get. Birth sign, ascendant, house positions, major aspects."

Draco leaned across the table, resting on his forearms, and read the sheet upside down. "Hmmm. Of course, we could have used my readings couldn't we?" He looked up, meeting Harry's eyes. "Considering how well you know them."

"Well..."

The Slytherin straightened, now resting on his outstretched arms, flingers splayed against the tabletop. "You know, Harry, I really would like to know what Weasley read in that chart you did."

"I..." Harry swallowed, not wanting to tell him, certainly not here in a cold tower this late at night. Then he had a thought -- a good one for changing the subject. "Why didn't you tell me about your fight with him?

"That would have looked good, wouldn't it? You turning up at Gryffindor Tower after supposedly being on your own at Hagrid's all day, and the first thing you ask Weasley is 'What's this I hear about you fighting with Malfoy?'. Brilliant, Harry."

"I wouldn't have done that."

"No? I've told you before. You're a pretty good actor, Potter, but you suck at keeping a poker face."

_Piss off Malfoy. _Harry wanted to say it out loud, but instead he just allowed the comment to play around his mind. It annoyed him that Draco was probably right; he'd never been good at lying to Ron and probably would have blurted out something about fights and brooms when he wasn't supposed to know. But he really wanted to know about the confrontation. "Did Ron realise you were wearing my cloak?"

"Why?" Draco questioned, his face completely neutral. Had Weasley confronted Harry about the cloak?

"He did break the clasp on it."

"And I fixed it."

"Yes, you did." Harry fingered the neck of his cloak as he crossed to the telescope and began checking the settings. "I just wondered if he noticed the Gryffindor badge on it and made any comment to you." He turned back and gave Draco an appraising look. "Can you imagine what Ron would think if he knew what had happened?"

Draco let out a soft breath and wondered for a moment whether to tell him. Weasley seemed to be acting perfectly normal with Harry in classes, and if he had confronted his friend with questions about his sexual orientation, Harry wouldn't be so calm about things now. So what was Weasley's game? Taunting Draco, but acting as if nothing had happened around Harry? "Let's get on with this, I don't intend spending the entire night in this freezing hellhole."

If Harry had something else to say, he kept it to himself. They worked in near silence for the best part of an hour. Draco spent most of the time watching Harry as he fiddled with the telescope and the other measuring devices; the intense look on the dark-haired boy's face enthralled him. Then, of course, there was the way his cloak moved about him as he walked, and that high-necked green jumper.

He was in the middle of a very nice daydream, which left him with a warm feeling in his groin, when Harry's voice pulled him from his reverie.

"Draco, why did you leave?"

"Hmmm?" Draco felt a fist grip at his insides.

"Yesterday. Why did you go without saying anything?" Harry had turned to look at him, but remained close to the wall, his hand resting lightly on the telescope.

"I thought you'd want me to."

"What?"

"I'd taken advantage of the situation. I thought you'd be telling me to go when you got back, so I went anyway." He cringed at the pathetic lie, and cringed even more at the reaction it provoked on Harry's face.

"You thought I didn't want that? That you were forcing me?"

Draco shrugged and returned to his paper work. He never thought he would actually hate making Harry hurt like this. Hadn't he spent years wanting to do just that? Anything to make The Boy Who Lived suffer. But now all he wanted was to hear it from him. Hear that Harry wanted him as much as he wanted Harry.

"Was it that bad?"

"What?" Now it was Draco's turn to look surprised.

"Was I that bad? Didn't you enjoy it?" The Gryffindor's hand had dropped away from the telescope and he stood wrapped in the black cloak, hands invisible within the cloth.

Draco could almost sense those hands, clasped into tight fists, knuckles white from the pressure. "Didn't I look like I'd enjoyed it?"

"I don't know. You disappeared."

"Did you?" Draco stepped around the table, but remained several feet away. It suddenly took all his self-control to stand still and not dive at Harry.

Finally after a moment or two, Harry responded in a very quiet voice. "Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes."

"Enough to want to do it again?" Two strides brought Draco to the Gryffindor. He felt like he was a giant in front of the smaller boy, like he was towering over Harry.

"Yes."

It was such a small word, but it was enough. Draco took Harry's face in his hands much the same way he had on Valentine's night. But this time there was no gentleness in the kiss. He dove straight in, his lips and tongue forceful against those beneath him. He could feel Harry's groan as the Gryffindor's mouth opened, allowing him inside. His fingers gripped into the thick black hair, the hold desperate. 

For a moment Harry let Draco hold him, feeling strong fingers cradle his face. With his eyes closed, he could feel Draco's hands on his face, the touch of the Slytherin's tongue against his own, and the press of the other's body against him. Then, tentatively, he pushed his arms into Draco's cloak, winding them around the narrow waist, drawing them closer together.

Draco growled against his mouth, and Harry found hands clawing at his throat, pulling his cloak away from his body. He felt it slither down his back, to land in a heap on the floor at his feet, and he shivered, both from the chill wind coming through the open window and the feel of those hands roving over his torso. Finally managing to free his mouth, Harry breathed, "Draco..."

Words were cut off as Draco's mouth crushed against his again, hands grasping at his hip, grinding him against the blond's body, digging into soft flesh. He could feel his own body responding to the stimulation, becoming hard as Draco pressed against him, the tips of the Slytherin's fingers pushing into the waistband of his trousers. 

"Draco..."

"What?" The voice hissed against Harry's neck.

"Not here. Someone could come up." He felt Draco's chuckle against his cheek.

"Live dangerously, Potter."

Suddenly Harry felt himself spun round, his back pressed against Draco's chest. He leaned against the warm, into the embracing arms, which had snaked around him, holding him tightly. They stood still in the frigid night air, both enfolded within Draco's cloak, and Harry couldn't decide if he wanted to laugh or cry. He felt incredibly safe held in those deceptively strong arms, yet this was one of the few people in the world he should NOT feel safe with.

God, he wanted Draco so much.

He let his head drop back onto Draco's shoulder, turning slightly into the crook of the Slytherin's neck. The warmth of Draco's chin pressed against his forehead, followed by the caress of lips as they moved against his skin. Hot urgent kisses burned his skin, as Draco's hand roamed over Harry's chest, finally pushing under his jumper in their desperate need to touch skin.

Then Draco's free hand cupped Harry's groin, and the smaller boy jumped, squeaking against Draco's neck. He heard Draco chuckle, and felt his lips curve into a smile.

"Hello, Mouse."

"What?" Harry tried not to push into Draco's hand, but his attempts were futile.

"Mouse. Do you know you squeak?"

"I don't." Draco's fingers curled around Harry, holding him through the material of his trousers, and Harry did, indeed, squeak again.

"Of course not."

"I don't," Harry defended again as nimble fingers released the button on his waistband and tugged down the zip of his fly.

Harry didn't resist as they both dropped to the ground. Down onto their knees. He felt a stretch across his hips as he straddled Draco's legs. Felt the pressure of the Slytherin's knees between his own parted legs as he settled back onto the slope of Draco's thighs. 

Sitting back on his haunches, Draco pulled Harry back against him. The smaller boy leaned against his chest, pushing back against the Slytherin, buttocks pressing into Draco's groin

Aware of his own growing need, Draco tugged urgently at Harry's shirt, pulling it free of the already open trousers, and he let his fingers trail over Harry's taut abdomen. The more he pressed, the tighter Harry's fingers clutched at Draco's clothes, using the hold to pull them closer. Draco's fingers slid further down, pushing in to Harry's clothing and along the thin line of hair running from navel to groin.

"Oh god..."

The words were Harry's, but Draco knew they could have been his own. He managed to tug at the neckline of green jumper, letting his teeth find the soft junction of Harry's neck and shoulder as his other hand moved deeper into the warmth below. He felt Harry buck as his fingers finally pushed against his hardness.

When Draco released him, Harry let out an incoherent sob, then moaned softly as Draco's fingers reached for his sides, curving around his waist.

"Sit up a bit."

Harry rose slightly, until he was no longer touching Draco. Fingers tugged at his trousers, pushing them down around his thighs, his underwear quickly following. Somewhere in the back of his mind Harry knew he should feel the icy cold draught against his naked flesh, but there was nothing but warmth and the glow of sexual need. He wondered if Draco had cast a spell, but any thought of asking was lost as he was pulled back against the Slytherin.

Back against Draco's nakedness. Against his hardness. Harry groaned, grinding back against it, the sensitive underside pressing into the crevice between his buttocks. He heard Draco let out a sob as he pulled Harry tighter against him, burying his face momentarily in the dark black curls of Harry's hair.

Then just when he thought he was in danger of free-falling into release, Harry felt fingers reach for his right hand, Draco's palm against the back of his hand as pale fingers were interlinked with his own He gasped as his hand was pushed down into his own groin, Draco's fingers making his own curl around his hardness, spiralling him into a whole new sphere of emotions.

Tossing his head back, Harry tried to breathe. His chest hurt as he attempted to pull air into his lungs and he felt like he had a cramp in his midriff, the dragging sensation of release building like a growing storm inside him. His free hand shot up, clutching into Draco's hair.

"Please, Draco, please..."

"I've got you. I've got ... you."

Harry felt a thumb brush across his lips and he opened his mouth, taking it in, sucking it, feeling the edges of the nail against his tongue, the ridges against his teeth.

"Make it wet, Harry." The whispered words caressed against his ear, as Draco nuzzled his flesh, sucking in his earlobe, nipping and licking. "Mmmm, oh yes. That's right." The thumb was pulled out. "Now, lean forward for me."

Draco's hand released him, leaving Harry holding his own erection. 

So close.

He did as instructed, his free hand resting on the cold stone in front of him. He murmured something unintelligible as Draco pushed his jumper and shirt up, baring his lower back.

Almost there.

Sobbed as a hand run down his spine and into the gap between his buttocks, parting them.

Almost ... there.

Held his breath as Draco's thumb ran over his skin.

Almost...

Harry let out a shriek of shock as the room suddenly filled with flashing colours. "What the fuck....?"

Fingers and hands fled away from Harry's body as if his flesh suddenly burned. "Shit," Draco hissed as he pushed Harry away. "Shit. Someone's coming."

"I know..." Harry squeaked, still on his knees, his hand cupping himself. Desperate.

"No, you idiot. Someone really is." Scrambling to his feet, Draco grabbed at his trousers, pulling them over his own aching erection. "That's my proximity spell. Someone's coming up the stairs." He grabbed Harry under his armpits and hauled him to his feet. "Stop playing with yourself and get dressed."

Harry's confused face looked at him from beneath his messy black hair and Draco realised he was too late. "God, you're a mess." Draco couldn't help himself. He had to kiss the Gryffindor, wanting to pull that look into himself and never forget it. Then muttering a quick cleaning spell, his lips brushed against Harry's again as he tried to push the back of Harry's shirt into his trousers. "Come on, Harry, pull yourself together."

The kiss really didn't help, Harry decided as he struggled with the after-effects of his own completion. His fingers felt like huge lead weights as he fumbled with his zip. Finally succeeding, he looked at Draco, who was already beside the table, a quill in his hand, looking as calm as he always did.

"You have proximity spells?" Harry grabbed the window ledge for support.

"Of course, how else do you think I knew you were at the door?" 

"Oh." Harry took a breath as he stepped away from the support, his legs quivering a little. He was just about to reach for his cloak when he heard the door slam and footsteps on the spiral staircase. Only too aware of how vacant his expression probably was, he turned away, fiddling with the telescope.

"Harry. Malfoy."

"Oh, joy."

Glancing over his shoulder, Harry saw Ron Weasley leaning against the banister surrounding the stairway. Brilliant! Of all the people to turn up unannounced it had to be his best friend -- the very last person he wanted to see in his current frustrated emotional state. "Ron." Harry swallowed. He still felt the glow of arousal flushing his skin. Hoped he didn't look as rumpled as he felt. "What are you doing here?"

"I was doing my rounds and thought I'd see how you were doing. Especially with him here." Ron glared at Malfoy.

"What's wrong, Weasley? Don't you think he can look after himself?"

"Piss off, Malfoy."

Draco smiled, but there was no humour in his eyes. "I'm allowed to be here. Why don't you piss off and let us get on with our work." 

Ignoring Malfoy, Ron had pushed away from the banister and was walking towards Harry. "How much more have you got to do?" Ron asked. 

"Oh, not much." Harry glanced back at Draco, the grey eyes of the Slytherin bored into him. There was a hint of pink across Draco's cheekbones, and Harry wondered if he was still hard beneath his cloak. _Bad image, Harry. _The urge to cross the room and touch Draco was almost overwhelming. Carefully Harry straightened his jumper. "About another half an hour."

"Okay." Ron turned back towards Malfoy and smiled. "Then I might as well wait. We can walk back together."

********************

**_Tuesday 18th February 1998_**

The deep depression that had hung over Hogwarts for two days finally lifted overnight and Tuesday dawned bright and cheerful. At least it was by the time the students arrived in the Great Hall for breakfast. When the Gryffindor Quidditch team filed down to the Entrance Hall, however, it was still dark with just the barest hint of sunrise peeking over the hills.

Harry yawned, almost tripping down the final step as he trailed behind the not very eager team. The Gryffindor team consisted of himself (Seeker), Ron (Captain and Keeper), Dennis Creevey and Fourth Year Bridget Felgate (Beaters), Neville Longbottom, fifth-year Debbie Gerstel and Third Year Nathalie McDonald (Chasers). Ron was already chatting moves with Dennis and Neville, whilst the three girls were in animated conversation about an exchange student who had arrived the previous day.

Harry was more interested in two things: His bed (he'd only managed about two hours of sleep), and the fact his tryst with Draco had been well and truly scuppered by Ron. If he were completely honest, he'd felt like telling Ron to piss off and leave him and Draco to their own devices, but he wasn't quite prepared to own up to his best friend that all he really wanted to do was shag his adversary.

So he'd had to finish all those pathetic readings, carefully positioning himself so Ron couldn't see how turned on Draco was making him feel. At least Draco had his cloak on. Harry had to keep up the pretence that he was warm and that was why he'd taken his own cloak off. It couldn't have been further from the truth -- it had taken him ages to get warm again when they returned to Gryffindor Tower.

"Harry."

So preoccupied with his thoughts, Harry almost crashed straight into Sirius. The tall man was waiting by the huge main entrance doors.

"Sirius! You nearly gave me a heart attack," Harry grinned. "Coming to watch practice?"

It was obvious the man wasn't. He was dressed in his indoor clothes. "No, not today. Actually Harry, Professor Dumbledore has asked me to collect you. He needs to talk to you."

"Come on Harry!" Ron's voice carried back through the open door. 

"Okay," Harry shouted back. He took a step towards the door, glancing briefly at his godfather. "What time does he want to see me?"

"Now, Harry."

The young man frowned. "But..."

"Now!"

********************

Professor Dumbledore's office never seemed to change that much. It still looked the same as it had on Harry's first visit back in his second year. The Sorting Hat remained on its shelf and Fawkes the Phoenix crowed to him as he entered the room.

The Headmaster was seated in an area Harry hadn't noticed before. It had several comfy chairs surrounding a table, which was laid out with breakfast things. There were also three stones about the size of his fist on the table, one of which seemed to glow in the candlelight.

"Good morning, Harry. I'm sorry to have dragged you away from your Quidditch practice, but I have some things I need to discuss with you." Dumbledore gestured at him. "Why don't you take off all that protective paraphernalia? I don't think you're going to need it in here."

"Okay." Harry rested his broom against the back of the chair and began to unbuckle his arm guards. It wasn't easy with his gloves still on and in the end Sirius moved to help him.

Finally divested of all his gear, Harry sat and looked expectantly at the two adults. A clock on the Headmaster's desk chimed 7am. It was much too early for any deep meaningful discussion, he decided, especially with these two people.

Dumbledore began pouring tea, talking as he handed the cups to his guests. "Things happened over the weekend, Harry, which have forced me to make a decision I had hoped we could leave until after you had completed your education here. It has also made me realise I should have told you this some time ago so that you would be more prepared." 

Harry blinked worriedly. When Dumbledore started a conversation with an apology, he knew things were not going to be good.

"You know of the attack on Parliament?" Harry nodded. "One of the artefacts stolen was something known as the Hallows Capstone." He pushed a book towards Harry. It showed a photograph of a large circular stone. Judging from the size of the people in the picture, the stone had to be about four feet across and a foot high. The top was covered with intricate carvings, some of which looked like lettering.

"You know from your history lessons how important this Stone is." 

Harry nodded again, desperately trying to remember what Professor Binns had said about the Stone. "Isn't it supposed to tap into the natural Earth magic and act as a sort of shield, hiding the magical world from Muggles?"

"Yes, something like that. During the Muggle Persecutions 1000 years ago, the Families of Parliament looked for ways of protecting our kind. It was decided to create a protective network using the Earth's power points as conduits. The one at Stonehenge is a master point and it was chosen to be the hub. The Hallows Stone is the most important part in the network. It holds it together. That is why Parliament was located there."

Harry frowned. "But why was it taken? It was Voldemort who took it wasn't it?"

"Between the three of us, we know it was him, but according to official sources we have yet to find out who was responsible. All of the security wards around the Stone and the buildings were systematically removed by, I believe, someone working in the Parliament -- only someone in a position of authority would have the information necessary to remove them. I have asked one of my Auror friends to check out the site because no one in the Ministry is willing to tell people what actually happened. The magic signatures are quite clearly Voldemort's even if the Ministry refuse to admit it."

"And it's Voldemort's work as well," Sirius quickly added. "Or his Death Eaters at least."

"Yes, quite possibly. Harry, the removal of the Stone means that the magic, which hides us from the Muggles, will slowly dissolve until they will be able to see everything. Hogwarts, Diagon Alley, all the places currently protected by unplottable magic, the hidden places. Voldemort knows this and he knows that as the magic dissolves people will become more and more fearful. And it is fear that he thrives on. Can you imagine what it would be like if non-magical people were to find out about Hogsmeade or Gringotts? Their fear of magic could lead them to do terrible things."

"No, that's not the case." Harry was shaking his head. "Muggles would just think those claiming to be wizards and witches were stupid or lying. I've seen it before on television. They'd just laugh at people."

"Like your aunt and uncle laugh at you?" Sirius interjected. "They laugh because these people have no real power, because they aren't truly magical. But imagine what people like the Dursleys would do if they suddenly found that there were real magical people living amongst them? Imagine if the people living near the Dursleys knew what you could do with just a flick of your wand?"

"Oh."

"Yes. They would start with small things. 'Go on, Harry, turn that bird into a teapot.' Then they would realise it isn't just an illusion or a trick -- that you really did turn the bird into a teapot. So they would try something else. 'Make this piece of paper into money' or 'Turn this button into gold' or 'Make the guy I hate at work sick.' Before you know it, everyone will want you to do something for them, and when you refuse they will brand you as demented or selfish -- that crazy Harry Potter." Sirius sat back in his chair, the dark blue of his eyes almost black, and Harry knew he was thinking of those long years in Azkaban. "After a while they will start to be scared of you, and then one night someone will think it's funny to throw a stone through your window, or paint graffiti on the side of your house. You don't retaliate because you hope they will get fed up with taunting you. But soon someone is blaming you because their car won't start in the morning, or because their prize flowers didn't bloom. And the persecutions will begin all over again. Assuming, that is, the military don't find you and spirit you away in the dead of night to some secret location, where they will try to find out if you really do have some sort of gift."

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but realised he had no idea what to say. In the end he whispered, "Why are you telling me this?" His hands were clenched tight, as if he already knew the answer.

"Because, my boy, Voldemort has left me a message in which he mentions you by name. In return for the Stone he wants you handed over to his 'care', as he puts it."

"No. You wouldn't..."

"Of course not." Dumbledore reacted out and patted Harry's hand. "You are safe under the protectorate of Hogwarts. I have made it quite clear to the Minister of Magic that you are not a bargaining chip. But as I said earlier, it does mean we will have to deal with certain matters." The older man reached into his robes and began searching for something.

For a moment, Harry watched him before his eyes moved furtively to meet Sirius' expressive face. He swallowed. "Sir, do we know if I went to him ... to Voldemort ... whether he would return the Stone ... if it meant everyone else would be safe..."

Dumbledore's sparking blue eyes met Harry's green gaze. "That is very brave of you and I would expect nothing less, but I am sure your sacrifice would not be rewarded by the return of the Stone. I believe Voldemort has other plans for the Stone and has no intention of returning it. He has only made this demand because he knows it will waste time and cause dissention. While people are arguing over you, Voldemort will be carrying on with his plans. Besides, he knows full well that another network can be created as soon as the right people have been gathered. Assuming that is, they are willing to perform the necessary rites. So there is no need to offer yourself."

Harry took a deep breath and studied the eyes that were watching him. For a moment he felt a shiver of concern run up his spine. "There's something else." It wasn't a question.

The Headmaster pursed his lips as he finally found what he was looking for in his pockets. He placed the roll of parchment on the table. "Harry, I want you to do something for me. Look at these three stones and tell me if you see anything unusual in them."

The boy frowned at the sudden change in conversation. He cast a wary glance at his godfather before looking at the stones. "No, nothing."

"Are you sure?"

"They're just stones." He reached forward and picked up the one that glowed. "This one must have some sort of quartz in it. It's picking up the light from the candles."

"Do you notice anything else about it?"

"No, it's..." His frown deepened and he held the stone between his hands, gently rubbing the surface. "It feels warm, and..."

The images crashed into his mind with such a force, it felt like he had flown into a brick wall.

_Blood. Screaming. Curses. Broken bodies. Pain. _

_PAIN._

The stone slipped from nerveless fingers as he stared in wide-eyed horror about him. He was there amidst the carnage of what had begun as individual images but was now his reality. He could smell the blood ... feel the pain ... hear the cries for mercy.

And feel the darkness that was Voldemort stalking him down.

He thought he must have been hyperventilating because he didn't think he could breathe and it felt like he was about to pass out. Then he realised there was a hand on his shoulder and he tried to get away from it, to escape from the illusion that had become his entire world.

The grip tightened and Harry found himself falling. Falling from the pain and darkness back into the safety of the Headmaster's study at Hogwarts. He heard a familiar voice first that sounded like it was coming from a great distance. As it got closer, it drowned out the screams and finally he looked up into the eyes of his godfather.

"Sirius." He struggled to breathe and realised that he was curled up on the chair, grasping at his legs as though trying to get into a tight ball. "What..." Green eyes flicked to Dumbledore who was standing on the other side of his chair, then back to his godfather. "What happened?" His voice was a hoarse whisper, as though he had been shouting and screaming.

Sirius had crouched down at Harry side, a hand resting reassuringly on his godson's arm. "It's okay. Just take it easy for a moment."

Dumbledore reached out and touched Harry's hair, the gesture soothing. "Here, drink this. It will help with the shock." He handed a small glass vial to the boy.

Harry looked at it suspiciously, but finally swallowed the clear liquid. Dumbledore returned to his chair, but Sirius remained at Harry's side. The stone lay on the floor and for a moment Harry thought the markings on it looked like a face, smiling malevolently up at him. "What the hell was that?" he finally croaked.

"Can you tell us what you saw?"

"Saw?" Taking off his glasses, Harry pressed a hand against his closed eyes. It was as if the images were imprinted on the inside of his eyelids. "I saw a battle. There were Death Eaters and they were torturing people." He gave a small involuntary shudder and rubbed at his scar. "And Voldemort was there."

"Was there anything else? Think carefully, my boy."

Eyes still closed, Harry's head dropped against the back of the chair. "Can ... Can you give me the stone again?" He felt it pressed back into his hands and almost instinctively he gathered it closer to him. Eyelids sprang open and brilliant green eyes stared straight ahead. They moved as if he was watching something playing out before him. "There's blood. Blood all over the place. And they are being killed on the Stone ... the one in the picture. Voldemort used them ... used their blood ... to unbind the Stone." He let out a small choked sigh. "They've taken the Stone away -- northwards."

Harry finally fell silent and it was a few minutes before he was able to look at either the Headmaster or his godfather. When he finally did, he spoke with an unsteady voice. "They took the Stone northwards." The two adults looked at each other. "How did I know that?" He put the stone down as if it was made of delicate porcelain. "How did I know any of this?"

The Headmaster picked up the small stone and studied it for a moment before holding it up towards Sirius. "What do you see?"

"A stone. Exactly the same as the other two." Sirius came to his feet and returned to his chair. He saw Harry frown at his reply. "There's no glow or crystal in it. Just an ordinary stone."

"As I do. Three plain perfectly ordinary stones. Yet you picked this one out because you knew it was different. You said it glowed." Harry nodded. "We don't see that. In fact if you showed this stone to anyone in the school I doubt they would see anything unusual in it. Nor would they see visions."

"But I'm not psychic or anything like that. I've never seen anything in a crystal ball."

"You have shown some remarkable talents. You have precognitive dreams for instance. And you have an extraordinary flying ability." 

"I'm no better than others ... Draco Malfoy for instance."

"Mr Malfoy did not climb onto a broom for the first time at 11 years of age and fly with the ease and competence of someone who has been using a broom since before they could walk. You did. Harry, you are able to tap into any broom's magic in a way I only seen a couple of times in my life. Others can do it if they receive the right training, but in you it is a natural inborn talent."

Harry shrugged. "I just love to fly."

"And to be outside?" Harry nodded. "You mentioned Earth magic earlier. We all know it exists. Have you ever gone into the castle grounds and felt like you could feel things growing around you? Or ever been aware of an approaching storm before it arrives? That is an ability we all have to be able to sense our connection to natural magic. Some people can do more than just sense it, Harry. They have the ability to be able to use it. To manipulate it, make it flow when darkness has blocked it. There are even stories of Earth magic practitioners in the past who could control the weather, direct thunder and lightning, and even raise a storm at sea. I have never met someone with those skills. In fact, some even say such practitioners only ever existed in legend. We only know of people who can direct passive Earth magic these days, who can use it as a healing energy, or connect with it.. One Earth magic skill is the ability to read the land."

Dumbledore hefted the stone. "This type of stone is known as a Dream Stone. The Earth is a living, breathing being who can be injured just as you or I. Sometimes she can carry an imprint of what has happened to her. These three stones came from Stonehenge and the one you were able to read has been imprinted with the events that happened there a few days ago. The other two are just stones, though I think you will sense innate magic in them which neither your godfather nor I would ever be aware of. I knew one of these was a Dream Stone, but not which one or what images were imprinted on it. The strongest images are those of violence because of the force of the emotion involved, but an experienced Reader can also find more pleasant memory imprints." He held the stone out towards Harry. "This ability is your gift."

Harry gave a small bitter laugh. "You call that a gift?" The images were still fresh in his mind as though he had just experienced them. They filled him with horror and pain.

"Yes, it is a gift. A very rare and powerful skill that many have tried to master, but few have had success with. You have been tapping into the Earth's power all your life, my boy, even before you picked up your first wand and learned how to focus your magical energy. Do you remember telling me about the Philosopher's Stone and Voldemort's final attack on you before he left?"

He nodded. After Professor Quirrell's death, Harry had thought he was safe, but then something had flown at him. He had felt it pierce though his heart as if it was trying to splinter him into a million pieces. It had been Voldemort's essence, strengthened just enough by the unicorn blood to escape, but not before one final attack. "Yes, I remember."

"You were holding the Stone at the time and without realising in your moment of need you tapped into its Earth magic and you survived. If you learned to tap into that energy at will, you would be able to use it for many things, including healing places Voldemort's armies have damaged and left in ruin."

"And that's why I'm here, Harry." Sirius leaned forward in his chair. "Animagus magic is drawn from a similar source. The user has to be able to control his magical powers without the focus of a wand. I'm going to help you learn to control the energies."

"But..." Harry tried to talk, the words sticking in his throat. _But what if I don't want to? What if I want to just be an ordinary boy without anything else that's special? _Instead his words came out as, "But why me? How do you know I can do this?"

"Harry, have you ever wondered why Voldemort tried to kill you as a baby?"

Harry could feel a headache growing, tension building at the back of his neck. "Yes, of course I have."

"Then I want to tell you about a prophecy." The old man reached for the scroll of parchment.

********************

Draco stood beside his cauldron, tapping his fingers on the desk. If he'd had a watch, he would be checking the time, but the one his father had given him for his fourteenth birthday was back in his room and currently not working. Harry had to be at least ten minutes late for the Potions class. The Gryffindor hadn't been at breakfast either, nor had he taken part in the quite ridiculous Quidditch practice, which Draco had gone to watch.

He hadn't slept after leaving the Astronomy Tower. Instead he had sat in his chair in front of the fire watching the flames and thinking about Harry and what had happened. Harry's answers to his questions -- yes, he had enjoyed Sunday and yes, he wanted to do it again -- and his obvious enthusiasm had been just about overwhelming, and Draco really did need to talk to him again. Watching Harry fly had seemed to be a good idea. Unfortunately Harry hadn't shown up, so Draco had spent the time convincing himself he was watching Gryffindor purely as research for their up and coming game.

A voice drifted across the classroom and Draco cast a look back at the owner. Weasley. The Gryffindor really was a pathetic Quidditch captain and the biggest pain in the neck Draco had ever had the misfortune to know. He had already hated Weasley before the incident in the Entrance Hall, but after his untimely interruption in the Astronomy Tower, Draco wanted nothing more than to kick the shit out of him. Or rather get Crabbe and Goyle to do it for him. Draco didn't do physical violence. He had gotten some of his own back earlier during the Gryffindor practice. Weasley had thought he'd fallen off his broom, but it had been Draco who was responsible for the accident. A carefully placed memory spell had made Weasley forget what he was doing for an instant, and he had slammed into the upright pole of one of the goal rings.

Draco smirked at the new Head Boy, waggling his eyebrows and indicating the graze across Weasley's face. Weasley glared back, blue eyes blazing. He watched as the redhead clenched his fist and mouthed a retort. Draco's response was a sweet smile, which clearly upset the Gryffindor even more. Weasley took a step forward, but any further confrontation was deflected as the classroom door swung open and slammed against the wall with a loud crash.

The entire class looked up and watched as a clearly anxious Harry Potter rushed in. They watched with interest as Harry stopped before Professor Snape's desk, the Slytherins rubbing their hands expectantly at the thought of The Boy Who Lived getting a detention for his tardiness.

Draco scrutinized Harry, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. The Gryffindor was a mess. He was breathing hard as if he'd been running and his hair was in more disarray than normal. It looked like he had dressed hurriedly, and the shirt he was wearing was the one with the frayed collar. The hushed but clearly animated conversation between student and professor carried on for several minutes, and when Harry finally turned round, there was a dark look on his flushed face.

Harry didn't look at Draco as he came to their shared desk. He put down his bag and turned to give Hermione a little smile. She looked at him, the question on her face clear -- _Is everything okay? _He nodded briefly before turning back to Draco. "Sorry I'm late." 

"Problem?"

"Nothing to concern yourself with." Harry took the scroll they had completed in the Astronomy Tower and tossed it on the desk. "Let's get on with this."

Draco paused, taken aback by the change in Harry. It was like he was working with a different person. The normally expressive face was completely passive as he got on his work, eyes missing their normal sparkle. Harry allowed Draco to lead in everything, not arguing, not criticising, and just doing what he was told. In fact, he didn't make any decisions himself, seemingly content to follow instructions. Draco watched him, wondering what was wrong. Was this because of last night, or was it something else?

And why hadn't Snape punished Harry for being so late?

They continued in silence until Harry made a mistake. He was slicing the paeony root when the knife slipped, cutting his finger. "Dammit." With a hiss of pain, he shoved the finger in his mouth, sucking on the injury. He swept the now useless blood-splattered root to one side and looked for something to wrap around the injury.

"What have you done now?" Draco appeared in front of Harry, his words were suitably sarcastic but the hand that reached for Harry's wrist was gentle.

"It's only a cut. I'll get some more root from the storeroom." Harry pulled the hand away. "Just leave me alone."

Draco stepped back, surprised by the response. "Okay." He spun round to the cauldron.

For a moment Harry stared at Draco, vaguely aware of the stiffness of the boy's back. With a sigh of relief, he turned on his heel and fled to the storeroom. Once inside, Harry dived to the rear of the room, as far away from the entrance as possible. Now out of sight, he leaned against a shelf, resting his forehead on the wood. It smelled of oak and a mixture of herbs and spices that had been stored on it over the years, and he breathed it in. He tried to recognise the individual scents, wanting something ... anything ... to take his mind off of the conversation he'd had with Dumbledore.

The sheet of parchment Dumbledore had given him burned in his pocket. It felt heavy, as though it contained the weight of the world, and as he stood there, Harry wondered if that was the case. Dumbledore was convinced the prophecy was about Harry; that it had shaped the young man's life since before he was even born.

He pulled the sheet out and smoothed it between his fingers. In the gloom, the words seemed to burn out of the paper, almost shimmering.

_When the Millennium is not dead, but dying_

_The Serpent will rise and cast the land into Darkness_

_And the People will walk in fear of Death's Flight._

_The Lion will lose its voice_

_The Raven will lose its flight_

_The Badger will dwell in blindness._

_When the Serpent's coils tighten their hold_

_And Darkness embraces the world_

_A new star will rise to light the land._

_Born of the People_

_His father a Son of the People_

_His mother a Daughter of the Lowly_

_His sun will be in the sign of the Lion_

_His horizons balanced between Darkness and Light_

_He will walk among the Lowly_

_And know their ways._

_Born of the People_

_To the People he will return_

_Reborn through Phoenix Fire _

_And Dragon's Tears_

_Restraining the Serpent within_

_He will be the Lion with a voice heard across the land_

_On the day he roars, the Raven will take flight_

_And the Badger will see again_

_The Lion will heal the land _

_In the places Darkness has touched_

_And the Serpent will be tamed._

"Potter?"

Spinning at the voice he recognised instantly as Draco's, Harry crumpled the parchment and shoved it into his pocket. He said nothing as the Slytherin threaded his way through the shelves to where he stood. The blond finally stopped just a few feet in front of him. "Malfoy." The single word was very quiet, lost amidst the bottles and bags of herbs and ingredients.

"The paeony root's over there." Draco pointed to a shelf closer to the door.

"I know. I'm just getting it."

"No you're not. You're skulking in the dark. What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Is this about last night?"

"No," Harry hissed, the dark shadows masking his face. "Not everything is about you." He started to push past the Slytherin, but Draco's hand shot out, fingers splaying across Harry's chest, blocking his path. "Just leave me alone."

"Why were you late? And why didn't Snape give you a detention?" 

Harry stared at the hand on his chest for a moment before turning his emerald eyes onto Draco. "This has nothing to do with you. Please just let me get on with this bloody potion and get out of here."

Had Harry slumped a little? Draco tilted his head slightly and met the gaze. He thought Harry looked like he might cry or was pleading for help and understanding. "Harry."

"Don't. Just don't. Not now." Reaching for the hand that was still on his chest, Harry's fingers curled around the slender pale hand. "I can't tell you."

Draco's free hand reached for Harry's tie, using it to pull the Gryffindor towards him. "Then don't. It doesn't matter." The inches separating them were closed as Draco leaned forward and swept his lips across Harry's down-turned mouth. He heard Harry give a _mmmph_ of protest.

The unexpected kiss made Harry stumble backwards, the hold on his tie pulling Draco with him. He fell back against a freestanding rack of shelves, felt it wobble against him, and grabbed for the Slytherin as he lost his footing. As his hands twisted in the material of Draco's robes, he was vaguely aware of the shelves tumbling away from him as their momentum propelled him backwards. The shelves crashed to the floor with an explosion of shattered glass. Harry let out a grunt of pain as the sack of herbs he had landed on split open, showering him with dried rose petals, and a louder cry as Draco slammed down on top of him.

For a moment both boys lay unmoving, staring at each other amid the carnage of broken bottles and split packages. As dried herbs settled about them, crowning both with greens and reds, Draco sat up. 

And that was how Professor Snape found them.

Harry Potter sprawled on the floor, his glasses askew and his dark hair peppered with rose petals.

Draco Malfoy, his usually immaculate robes dragging off one shoulder, sitting astride the Gryffindor's hips, with the Harry's red and gold tie still twisted around his hand.

They watched the professor as he slowly folded his arms and surveyed the scene before him. "Get up, both of you."

Draco quickly released the tie and, giving Harry a quick look, he scrambled to his feet. Harry pulled himself onto his knees and scrabbled to straighten his glasses. When he finally got to his feet, he carefully stepped an arm's length away from Draco.

"Tell me, please," Snape began as he stepped towards the two boys, "why it is that everyone else manages to work in relative harmony while you two insist on disrupting almost every lesson?"

Draco opened his mouth to reply, but quickly realised the question was rhetorical.

"I will not tolerate fighting in my classroom. Do you both understand?" He stared at each boy in turn, waiting for a response. They nodded in unison. "You will both clear up this mess and I want an inventory of what you have ruined. Which, I might add, you will pay for. You will remain here until you have finished, even if it takes you the rest of the day. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you will complete your potion during your own time in detention."

Draco's mouth opened in shock. Another detention? What the hell was his father going to say? "Professor Snape... Please..."

Harry, of course, didn't really care about yet another detention, but he did like the mortified look on Draco's face at that moment. And hearing him plead with his Head of House almost made it worth getting in trouble. A dark smile flickered across his face.

"Just be grateful, Mr Malfoy, that I am not taking any house points from either of you. I will be writing to your guardians with the bill for this damage. Now, clean it up." With that, the Potions Master swept from the room.

Harry was already beginning the thankless task when Draco came out of stunned shock. "He's writing to my parents," the Slytherin muttered to himself.

"He can write to my uncle and aunt, but they won't send a Sickle." Harry watched as Draco slumped down to the floor, his normal grace completely absent in his current dejected state. "Come on, the quicker we do this, the quicker we can get out of here."

"And he's given me another detention."

"You'll survive." Harry leaned forward and plucked a couple of rose petals from Draco's hair. "At least you haven't just been told you're expected to save the Wizarding world yet again."

"What?"

"Nothing. It doesn't matter." Suddenly his conversation with Dumbledore didn't seem quite so urgent. He would deal with it later. At the moment he was seated in a cupboard with Draco and all he really wanted to do was hold him, to fall into that safe embrace. His hand closed around the back of Draco's neck and he stared into the grey eyes. "I guess this isn't a good time to ask you to kiss me again is it?"

********************

It took the best part of two hours to clear up the mess in the storeroom, and the list of ruined ingredients and broken bottles grew and grew. It looked like that little kiss was going to be very expensive. Harry had noticed the twitch of a smile on Snape's face as they had handed over the parchment listing the damages. The Potions Master knew that Harry would be paying for his share because there was no way the Dursleys would foot the bill.

He had managed to get through lunch, DADA and Divination before returning to the dungeons to start on the Night Dew Potion all over again. Draco had responded to his comment about a kiss, letting Harry gently touch his mouth, but that had been it. After a couple of seconds, the Slytherin had almost pointedly pulled away, making it very clear he was not happy with Harry in the slightest. Things had all gone downhill from that point and their conversation both during the clean up and preparing the potion had been limited to potion-related comments.

Dinner had been over by the time he and Draco had finished, but fortunately he'd lost his appetite by then. All he wanted to do now was to disappear and find somewhere to hide and contemplate what Dumbledore and Sirius had told him.

His hideaway turned out to be a small room at the top of Gryffindor Tower, which no one else ever seemed to visit. It had been some weeks since he had last been there, and a thin layer of dust carpeted the floor of the empty room. He crossed to the small window seat and sat down, his knees hugged to his chest, and stared out into the darkness.

In front of him was the dream stone. It still glowed with that strange inner light as though taunting him about how he would always be "The Boy Who Lived" and never be just another wizard. He wanted to throw it out of the window, to let it be lost in the darkness, but he couldn't. It was like it somehow owned him now. Just like everything and everyone else.

Harry Potter -- a commodity to be bought and sold to the highest bidder. To be used and abused by anyone who felt like it.

He took off his glasses and kicked at the stone. It skidded off the window seat and landed on the floor some distance away. Even without his glasses, he could see the dusty floor illuminated by the stone. Dumbledore had said the stone would glow until all its images had been removed. Only then would it return to being just an ordinary stone again.

How many images would Harry have to read before he could be an ordinary boy again?

He let his forehead drop to his knees and took a shuddering breath. What wouldn't he give to feel Draco's arms around him now, that safe sure hold. Why was it that of all the people he could feel something for, it had to be Draco Malfoy? How could he ask Draco to choose?

Death Eater, Dark Arts, The Malfoy Family, The Malfoy Fortune? 

Phoenix Fire, The Light, Earth Magic, An Orphan Boy?

"Harry."

He jumped at the sudden voice, wondering how he hadn't heard the door open. Red hair glowed in the candlelight and he realised it was Ron. "Oh, hello, Ron."

"Are you okay? People have been worried." Ron shrugged a little. "Well, by people I mean Hermione."

"I needed to think." Ron was by his side now, and Harry moved his feet so that his friend could sit down.

"About what Professor Dumbledore wanted to see you for?" Harry nodded. "Can I help?"

With a shrug Harry put his glasses back on. "I'm not supposed to tell anyone."

"Okay."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, both staring out into the darkness. Harry mused over what the Headmaster had said to him about secrecy. Could it really hurt if he confided in his best friend? He'd always told Ron everything in the past -- well, almost everything. Finally Harry held out the creased sheet of parchment. "Dumbledore thinks this is about me."

Ron took the parchment, trying to keep his face completely neutral. It couldn't be what he thought it was, could it? Did Harry finally know about the very thing Ron had been studying for the last year? Angling it so he could read it in the dim lighting, Ron licked his lips. He knew the words by heart, or at least the version of the prophecy he had access to. _When the Millennium is not dead, but dying... _Yes, it was the same one.

"A prophecy?" He finally responded, hoping his voice conveyed sufficient surprise. Harry nodded. "And it's supposed to be about you?" Another nod. "How old is it?"

"Dumbledore said the first recorded version was about 750 years ago."

"Did he give you an interpretation?"

"Oh yes."

"Okay. So, why don't you tell me what he said? _When the Millennium is not dead, but dying. The Serpent will rise and cast the land into Darkness. And the People will walk in fear of Death's Flight."_

Harry straightened. "The end of the Millennium -- the last hundred years of the 20th century. The Serpent is Voldemort. He rose to power in the 70s and I don't think there are many who would say people weren't afraid of him. Death's Flight is one of the meanings of Voldemort's name."

"The next bit is pretty obvious," Ron shrugged. _"The Lion will lose its voice. The Raven will lose its flight. The Badger will dwell in blindness. _It's basically saying that anyone not on Voldemort's -- the Serpent's -- side, will be defeated."

"And, the next bit: _When the Serpent's coils tighten their hold, and Darkness embraces the world, a new star will rise to light the land. _The saviour of the Wizarding world will be born when Voldemort is at the height of his powers. Guess who Dumbledore thinks that is?"

"A certain green-eyed wizard?" Harry nodded. _"Born of the People." _Ron shrugged. "The People is an old name for Wizards. _His father a Son of The People. _Pretty obvious. _His mother a Daughter of the Lowly. _The Lowly are Muggles."

"And my mum was Muggle-born."

Ron tapped his finger on the sheet. "This next bit is to do with astrology. _His sun will be in the sign of the Lion. His horizons balanced between Darkness and Light._ Your sun sign is Leo and your Ascendant is Libra, the scales. The Ascendant is like a horizon in a chart and this one is about balance -- light and dark."

"Thanks, friend. I don't really need someone else to verify what Dumbledore has already said."

"It's what I'm here for, remember? _He will walk among the Lowly, and know their ways. _This is you living with your uncle and aunt?"

"Skip on down, I'll come back to that in a minute."

"Okay. _Born of the People, To the People he will return, Reborn through Phoenix Fire and Dragon's Tears. _Well, the People references -- that would be you coming back to the Wizarding world when you started here at Hogwarts. That could be like a Phoenix being reborn - you starting a new life here. Dragon's Tears? I don't get that bit, but there was something in Divination I think that mentioned Tears of the Dragon." He frowned thoughtfully. "I will have to check my notes. _Restraining the Serpent within." _Ron shrugged. "That could be to do with being a Parselmouth I suppose." 

Harry shrugged as well, not wanting to voice something he had never told Ron. That he had nearly been sorted into Slytherin. That within him were qualities Ron despised. Yet were they? He couldn't change what he was, and maybe it was time to stop denying that other part of himself which helped give him to strength and determination to overcome the odds. Plus, he reminded himself, that little bit of recklessness that made him jump in were others feared to tread. "It could be."

"The rest of this stanza is about people overcoming the Serpent." 

"Then it goes on about how I'm supposed to save everybody."

"And what's so unusual about that? You seem to have been trying to save everyone for years. But why do you think you are going to kill Voldemort? It says here: _And the Serpent will be tamed. _It doesn't actually say you'll be doing the taming. It does say: _The Lion will heal the land in the places Darkness has touched._ That is different from you destroying You-Know-Who. Did Professor Dumbledore make any reference to this bit about healing the land?" 

Harry shook his head, deliberately not replying to the question. He had the sudden need not to tell Ron about the Earth magic and the implications of it.

Ron pursed his lips thoughtfully at Harry's mute response, smoothing the sheet of parchment between his fingers. "Do you want me to look into this a bit more?"

"Would you? Thanks. Apparently this is why Voldemort tried to kill me."

"What?"

"While he was off studying his Dark Arts stuff, he kept finding references to a prophecy that foreshadowed his destruction. He's supposed to have spent ages trying to find out who it referred to and in the end he decided it was me."

"Harry..."

"He killed my parents because of some fucking 750 year old bit of text and that is why he wanted to kill me as well. Kill me before I could carry out the prophecy. At least that's what Dumbledore thinks. And guess what, the bloody thing nearly came true. I did nearly kill him." The bitterness in Harry's voice was suddenly biting as he stared blindly out of the window. "And do you know what the worst thing is, Ron? Dumbledore decided that Voldemort probably wasn't dead, so in order to fulfil the prophecy he arranged for me to be raised by The Lowly. That's why he sent me to live with my aunt and uncle." He turned back to face his friend, the hurt in his eyes almost palpable. "There were Wizarding families who would have taken me in ... who wanted to take me in after Voldemort's attack, but Dumbledore still sent me to live with people who hated me almost as much as the Dark Lord did."

Ron started to reach out a hand towards his friend, but in the end draw it back.

"Ron, I don't want this. I've never wanted this."

"Harry, there are ways to deal with this, you know. People who would help you. Dumbledore isn't the only person with answers.

"Sure, like who?" Ron opened his mouth to respond but fell silent as Harry continued. "I have a dream sometimes where I've always known I was a wizard and never had this bloody scar. I live with my parents in a house like the Burrow and have brothers and sisters. My dad works for the Ministry and my mum invents charms. I have friends who are from Wizarding families and I play with toy brooms and love to degnome the garden. Dad would take me to Quidditch matches and I'd know all about Hogwarts and Diagon Alley. People wouldn't know who I was and no one would keep saying I was special."

"But you are special, Harry. Even if things had been different, you still would be. It's in your star chart."

Harry swallowed, his throat working as he tried not to cry. "All I ever wanted was to just be an ordinary kid."

********************

Cloud stormed into the room, his face animated with a cross between excitement and fear. He all but stumbled to the desk and flung a crumpled sheet of parchment onto the cluttered surface.

"Dumbledore's told him. He knows about the prophecy."

Shadow looked at the scruffy sheet of parchment and eventually picked it up. "Don't you ever think?" He didn't look at his young charge. "There could have been someone in here with me. You know the procedure for contacting me."

"I know, I'm sorry but this is important. Not only does he know about it; but also this version is different. Look at the ending. The one I have says he will destroy the Serpent. This one doesn't even mention him killing the Dark Lord. It says someone will tame him, but not that it's the Lion."

Shadow glanced down to the relevant lines, pushing Cloud's pointing finger out of the way. "It's an interesting change of wording. What did he say about healing the land?"

"Nothing. He said Dumbledore didn't talk about it."

"We have to know. Make sure he tells you everything." Cloud nodded. "Now, sit down and make me a copy of this." He gave the younger man a paternal pat on the arm. "And well done. You have done very well."

********************

**_Thursday 26th February 1998_**

It had been another freezing night in a succession of late winter frosts. In fact, Harry decided, February 1998 had probably contained almost every weather type known to man. Torrents of rain, gales that had sent trees in the Forbidden Forest crashing to the ground, delightful sunshine, warm enough to sit outside in, and now bone-chilling cold.

The sky was just beginning to lighten in the east as Harry walked along the edge of the Forest. Everything around him was painted with frost so thick it almost looked like snow. The frozen grass crunched underfoot and his breath formed clouds of white about him. He could feel the cold colouring his cheeks red and he tugged both his scarf and hood closer about him.

Some distance ahead a large black dog frolicked across the landscape. It would rush back and forth between the fringes of the Forest and the grassy surrounds. Occasionally it would rush towards him, leaping around his feet before lolloping off again. Harry smiled at the sight, loving the fact that this particular dog was finally able to run free.

It rushed back past him again and Harry was tempted to find a stick to throw. He paused, studying the ground and finally found something suitable.

"Don't even think about it. I do not fetch sticks."

Harry grinned up at his godfather, now transformed from his Animagus form into the tall longhaired human. "I was looking for something to throw into the lake."

"I bet. Your dad always threw sticks. He used to think it was funny. Of course I never ever went to fetch them." Sirius put his arm around Harry's shoulder, steering him onto a little pathway that lead into the Forest. "Well, there were a few I guess. There was this particularly nice stick I remember. It landed in the lake just as Severus was walking by. I couldn't resist it. I bowled him over on the way down and then when I came out of the water I almost drowned him." Harry laughed at the image. "Of course Severus didn't know we'd learned Animagus transformation so he reported that there was a dangerous dog on the grounds. James spread the rumour that Severus had fallen into the lake while trying to catch the giant squid and was just using the dog sighting as an excuse."

"Did you ever like him?"

"Severus?" Harry nodded. "Mr Potter, you should know better than to ask one professor personal questions about another professor." Sirius' voice was full of mock severity. "I've never 'liked' him. He's a conceited bastard who always thought he was better than everybody else. He still thinks he is." The older man came to a halt in a small glade. It was dark amid the trees, but the circle of sky visible above the clearing was already tinted with the rising sun. "Here we are."

Harry stayed still in his godfather's embrace, leaning against his side. Why, he wondered, did Sirius' description of Snape sound so much like Draco? He suddenly wanted to tell Sirius everything, but knew this wasn't the moment to come out to anyone, least of all his godfather. Instead he looked up at the taller man. "So, what have you got planned for today and why are we standing in the Forbidden Forest at such a god-awful hour in the freezing cold?"

"I have to admit it seemed like a good idea yesterday, but then I was in a room with a nice fire at the time." He guided Harry towards the centre of the glade. "I have a scenario for you to consider." 

"Okay."

"You and someone else are being chased down by Voldemort's Death Eaters while you are out working on something. It's a morning like this and you are both exhausted. Finally you lose them in the woods and manage to find this place. You are both frozen. What will you do?"

"A warming spell?"

"True. We could do that. But someone else could just end it with a simple _Finite Incantatum, _or they could block it with a spell you couldn't deal with."

"We could light a fire."

"And alert all the bad guys for miles around. Come on, Harry, what will you do? Both your lives depend on this." Sirius stepped away, leaving Harry in the centre of the glade. He folded his arms, studying the boy.

"First, I'd make sure we had some sort of protection." Harry drew out his wand.

"No, no wands. Remember, magic from wands can be traced. It leaves your magical signature screaming all over the countryside. Voldemort would track you down in a minute." Sirius began walking in a slow circle around his godson. He'd taught Harry a lot over the last week -- the boy was a very willing student -- but even Sirius was on new ground now. He spent his free time reading old texts with yellowing pages peppered with mildew, trying to understand concepts different from the magic he understood. There had been several occasions over the last week when he'd gone to Dumbledore trying to get the older man to understand he wasn't capable of teaching this to Harry. Most of all, Sirius was scared of letting his godson down yet again. As a guardian, Sirius had already decided he'd failed spectacularly years ago. Dumbledore, on the other hand, kept insisting that Sirius was the ideal person for this task.

So Sirius kept on with his mildewed books, trying to lead Harry to find the answers himself. And that was why they were currently stood in a frozen glade before sunrise.

He watched as Harry put away his wand. Clearly the boy had no idea what to do next. "I need you to remember the things we've done in the classroom, Harry. Just imagine your companion has been injured and that you need to protect him."

"I wish I was just learning how to be an Animagus. It's a bloody sight easier than this."

"Of course, but you would think that because you haven't actually done it yet." He came up behind Harry and rested his hands on his shoulders. "You are a phoenix, Harry, even if you never turn into one. Now, close your eyes and concentrate." He knew the boy had done as instructed without even seeing. "Find that connection with the Earth, visualise it if you have to, imagine it stretching from you into the ground. Don't think of this as a game. Make it real. Lives are depending on you. Who are you trying to protect?"

Sirius watched as Harry shifted slightly before bringing a clenched fist over his heart. "Myself." The voice sounded different, a little deeper than normal as he lapsed into an almost trance-like state, drifting deeper as he connected with the ancient magic.

"And?"

"The other one, The Dragon."

"Okay," Sirius allowed his voice to drop, a whisper in the crisp morning air, mingling with the breeze that ruffled the branches. "Remember that Earth magic is alive, you always ask, you never demand." He felt Harry lean back against him as slowly the glade pulsed with an ethereal glow. It could have been the sunrise finally filling it, but he was left with an impression of the grass rapidly growing, weaving itself into a canopy that stretched right over their heads, sealing them from the outside world.

Harry finally spoke. "Protection and ... warmth."

The whole structure suddenly disintegrated, causing them both to jump. They were back in the frost filled glade with the sun casting long shadows about them. For a moment neither spoke, then Harry turned a little so he could see his godfather's face. "Well, I guess you can have either protection or warmth, not both together."

"Good try." Sirius squeezed Harry's shoulder. "It was actually pretty impressive."

Harry shrugged. "What do you expect, I'm being taught magic by a Marauder. Now if you'd asked for protection and breaking into Professor Snape's prohibited potions ingredients store, I probably could have managed it." He grinned.

"Hmmm, I seem to remember there was some interesting stuff kept in there in my days. I wonder what Severus has in there now?"

"Should I try again?"

"What, you want to try to get into his ingredients store?" Sirius looked suitably shocked, but there was a sparkle in his dark blue, almost black eyes.

"No, of course not. I mean this whole protection and warmth thing."

"No, that's enough for now. Let's go and get breakfast. My feet are like lumps of ice."

"Well, as we aren't hiding from Death Eaters _and_ I'm with a teacher taking a lesson, I guess I can do magic." With a flourish, Harry pulled out his wand and quickly used a heating charm on their clothes. "There, much easier."

Sirius grinned and gestured towards the glade opening. "Your mother knew some good warming charms and I remember one involved a bottle of brandy." He matched the boy's shorter stride as they walked. "So, Harry, who's The Dragon?"

********************

**_Friday 6th March 1998_**

"So, Harry, are you happy with the assignment?" Professor Lupin placed a hand on Harry's shoulder and gave it a parental squeeze. "The use of transfiguration when dealing with this is extremely important."

His own hands holding the roll of parchment, Harry scanned over the information for what seemed like the hundredth time. He knew he shouldn't have any problems with Advanced Defence Against The Dark Arts, but everything seemed to be running together these days.

Potions -- DADA -- Care of Magical Creatures -- Divination -- Charms -- Transfiguration -- Special lessons with Sirius

Draco.

Closing his eyes briefly, he tried to dispel the image that kept claiming his thoughts even when he should be studying. Especially when he was studying. Damn Malfoy for not speaking to him for over two weeks! Damn him for virtually ignoring him since that disastrous kiss in the Potions storeroom.

Of course, if he was entirely honest, it wasn't Draco's fault. Harry hadn't exactly gone out of his way to contact the Slytherin. He was sinking under the burden of work, especially now he had to find time spent each day for lessons with Sirius. The only real respite had been Ron's 18th birthday celebrations the previous Sunday. The party had lasted all day and it had been excellent. A hand absently rose to his face, pushing his hair from his eyes.

"Harry?" The pressure on his shoulder grew and Harry turned to meet the calm face of Remus Lupin. The gentle voice spoke again. "Is something wrong?"

"No, Professor. I'm sorry." Removing his glasses, Harry rubbed absently at his right eye. "Yes, I understand."

"Good." Lupin patted the shoulder before finally releasing it. "You'll be fine. You know all the answers already and are more than capable of dealing with this." He looked briefly at his pocket watch. "Goodness, is that the time, it's almost 10pm. No wonder you're tired. Now, off you go." With that he gestured at the two students in the otherwise deserted classroom. "Ron, you as well."

Clearing up his books, Harry looked across at his friend, seeing the same relieved expression on Ron's face. The extra DADA tutorials Professor Lupin ran were great, but on top of a full day's studying, it had left both boys feeling tired and drawn. "Thanks, Professor," Harry finally managed to say as he slung his book bag over his shoulder and stepped out from behind the desk to join Ron who was already half way to the door.

He nearly walked into Ron as the other boy came to an abrupt halt. 

"Oh, there was something else, Professor." Ron turned back to face the tall thin-framed teacher. "Do you have another moment?"

"Of course."

"Thanks. I'll see you in the common room, Harry."

A tired smile played on Harry's face. "I think I'll head off to bed."

"Okay. Don't forget Quidditch practice in the morning."

The smile turned into a scowl. "Ron, it's Saturday," Harry's voice was almost a whine. Since Ron had been made team captain the previous year, he had run the team ragged with his intense training schedule. He was, Harry decided, even more fanatical than Oliver Wood had been. 

"Slytherin in a week, Harry, in case you've forgotten."

"Of course not." Harry looked skyward. "See you at breakfast." With that, he turned and left the classroom.

The darkened corridors were deserted and Harry was grateful not to be surrounded by hundreds of fellow students. In fact he was grateful not to be surrounded by his friends. Since he had told Ron about the prophecy, his friend seemed to have become his constant companion. Whenever he looked around he would see those blue eyes watching him and that familiar voice asking, "All right, Harry?"

And that was another reason why he hadn't been able to talk to Draco. On the few occasions he'd been on his own, the Slytherin always seemed to be surrounded by people. He could send a note, of course, but somehow that seemed too needy ... almost desperate.

So there had just been the clichéd eyes meeting across crowded rooms. Looks which Harry found almost impossible to read. 

Then there was the lying to his friends. He wanted to tell Hermione of the prophecy, but Ron had been adamant about keeping it secret. Hadn't that been what Dumbledore had told him to do? the Head Boy reminded Harry each time he wanted to tell their best friend. So Harry had kept the secret from Hermione and hadn't told Ron the real reason for his extra lessons with Sirius.

Lying to Hermione was the hardest thing. She was his rock at the moment, keeping him from sinking into depression as he tried to cope. It wasn't fair that he should treat her so badly and he would tell her everything, even about the Earth magic. Especially about the Earth magic.

His godfather was actually teaching four other Upper-Sixth students the intricacies of Animagus transformation. These lessons were one-to-one and it meant that Harry's extra-curricular studies went almost unnoticed. People had wanted to know what his animal form was, of course, but so far he'd managed to fob them off. He'd decided to put an end to the speculation by telling Dennis Creevey in jest that he was a phoenix. The young boy had listened intently when Harry had made him promise not to tell anyone else -- and then promptly gone and informed the whole of Gryffindor House. Of course it meant that people had stopped asking him. Instead he was occasionally greeting in one of two ways: "Wow, you're a phoenix, Harry", said with a voice full of awe and a sunny disposition; or "You're a phoenix, Harry, bloody typical", said with sarcasm and annoyance. 

Finding himself in the Entrance Hall, Harry paused for a moment. The stairs leading up to the Gryffindor Tower were off to his right, but across the hall were the steps leading down to the Slytherin Dungeons. In his whole time at Hogwarts, he had only been down there once during the Polyjuice incident in his second year when he and Ron had pretended to be Crabbe and Goyle. They had used the potion to question Draco about the Chamber of Secrets and to find out if he was the Heir of Slytherin. It made Harry smile to remember it now and he wondered if Draco had ever known the truth. Maybe one day he would ask him.

Harry's smile turned thoughtful, as he had crossed to the top of the stairs leading to the Dungeons. What would Draco do if he turned up at the Slytherin Common Room? If he just turned up at the door and said, "Hi, I need to talk to Malfoy about our Potions homework"? That would probably take too much explaining. After all, what would a Gryffindor be doing skulking around the Slytherin domains at this time of night?

But he did have his wand, a perfectly usable invisibility cloak in his room, and a talented ability for summoning spells. Of course magic wasn't allowed in the corridors, but he remembered a certain get-out clause Fred had told him. If you read the rule a certain way it could be argued that the rule only applied during class time.

Pulling his wand from his bag, Harry pointed it in the general direction of the Gryffindor Tower. _"Accio Invisibility Cloak."_

********************

Draco was holding court. He was lounging on one of the more comfortable leather couches in the Slytherin Common Room with the Upper- and Lower-Sixth gathered around him, hanging onto his every word. He was in the middle of a story his grandmother had told him about a Malfoy ghost, and with most of the lights in the room out, he milked his audience for all it was worth.

Of course the story had been embellished over the version she had told him. After all, he had only been five at the time, but he knew enough other frightening tales to add to the mix, especially as there were a couple of Second Years at the edge of the gathering. It would serve them right if they had nightmares.

He paused in the tale as Dominic Purcell, a Fifth Year Prefect, sauntered into the room and dropped down in a free chair. He grinned at the crowd. "Guess who I caught in the Charms classroom?"

Draco glared at the newcomer for daring to interrupt his story and was just about to say something when he felt a strange sensation against his neck. It felt like a breath, but it couldn't be. Then, just as he was about to turn to see what it was, the breath condensed into words. "Squeak, squeak," the whispered voice muttered. Draco hadn't spent years learning how to hide his true feelings for nothing. It had to be Harry. Who else would have the gall to sneak into the Slytherin Common Room with a Prefect? And the invisibility spell was pretty impressive as well, especially for someone who'd never learned any form of Dark Arts. He continued listening to Purcell's tale of snogging Hufflepuffs, while a warm breath played across the back of his neck. The sensation caused a smile to turn up the corner of his mouth very slightly. As it continued, he found he had to cross his legs and adjust his clothing a little, the cool calm Malfoy exterior betrayed by his hot interior.

Finally, as Purcell finished, Draco stretched and sat up. There was a suitable mild commotion as he left because of the unfinished tale, and he was actually pleased for the interruption. 'Leave them wanting more' had been his motto for many years, and once again it was proving correct.

He set off towards his room, assuming 'Mouse' was following and hoping the idiot wouldn't end the invisibility spell until they were safely in his room. Nodding 'goodnight' to several people, he finally reached the heavy wooden door. He removed the wards and pushed the door open. A waft of air brushed passed him and he closed the door, shutting both himself and his secret visitor inside his own little world.

The cloak fluttered away from the Gryffindor and Harry dropped both it and his bag onto a chair. Draco watched as Harry turned slowly, taking in the room. "Wow, this is impressive. How did you manage to get your own room?"

"Connections," Draco responded. He folded his arms as Harry began wandering around, studying things but, thankfully, not touching. He'd heard that Harry had an invisibility cloak, but had never been sure if the rumour was true. "It was a bit stupid coming down here, even with your cloak." He frowned. "Where did you get it from?"

Harry was now standing in front of the wooden panel, which was still embedded with shards of crystal. The shards formed the rough outline of a human figure. "Interesting, if a little violent. Is that real blood?" He peered closer. "The Cloak belonged to my dad." Harry turned back, finally facing the Slytherin properly. "He left it for me. I had to wait outside your Common Room until someone came along who knew the password." There was a high colour along the Gryffindor's cheeks and he was breathing just a little too fast, as though he had been running. "I had a DADA tutorial and I was going back to my room when I thought that maybe we could ... well ... talk." He subconsciously licked his lips.

"Talk?" Why was it, Draco pondered, that whenever they 'talked', they always seemed to be on opposite sides of the room, with neither of them being willing to actually cross that great divide?

"Yes. Talk. About things."

Harry's hands were in his trouser pockets and Draco tried hard not to follow the limbs down from shoulder to fingertips. Did the dark-haired boy do it deliberately, or did he really have no idea of how alluring he could be just standing there doing nothing?

"Such as?" Draco crossed to his small desk and put down the book he was carrying. The move brought him closer to Harry. He noticed the way Harry was standing, his weight on his right leg so that the hip jutted forward just a little. A hand sneaked out of a pocket and fiddled with his glasses before pushing back in again, the jumper rucking up a little in the process.

"Just things. Like the detention. And ... things." Harry gesticulated, pulling his trousers tight across the front. He shifted his weight to his left leg.

"Yes, thanks for that. Another detention was just what I needed." He leaned back on the desk, resting against the tabletop.

"Well, I didn't know you were going to grab hold of me."

"And I didn't know you were going to knock over a shelf." He wondered for a moment whether to tell Harry how angry his father had been. Lucius had arranged a fire talk session and had admonished his son well and truly. He had refused to let Draco have a replacement broom and at the moment his birthday celebration looked in doubt as well. Draco still smarted from the session and it was one of the reasons he had done his utmost to keep away from Harry over the past 18 days.

And now here he was, in Draco's room.

"I'm sorry about your broom."

"Are you? I wasn't when Snape confiscated yours."

Harry smiled at him. "That's why I'm in Gryffindor and you aren't."

"I hear you're some sort of phoenix Animagus."

The smile broadened. "Where did you get that from?"

"Just around. That's why I'm in Slytherin."

"I guess that's true." Harry pulled his hands out of his pockets and rubbed them together thoughtfully.

"So if you aren't a phoenix, then what is your godfather teaching you to be?"

"We're working on it." Harry took a step closer. "You know, Draco, I was wondering something."

"What?"

"If we're going to stand here all night or whether you'd just like me to leave."

Draco realised his arms were wrapped tightly about him, almost squeezing the air out of his body. He swallowed. "That depends."

"On what?" Another step.

"Whether you want to stay or not."

"I'm here. I have used my Gryffindor boldness and cunning to get the Slytherin password. I think that deserves at least some sort of reward."

"Gryffindors aren't cunning. I think you're getting confused." 

"No, I don't think so. The Sorting Hat always said I would have done well in Slytherin."

Draco looked momentarily surprised at the information and then he laughed, as if assuming Harry was lying. "You're joking. You? In Slytherin? You wouldn't have survived your first year."

Harry stopped right in front of him, his smile enigmatic. "I'm sure someone would have helped me out." He pushed his hands back into his pockets and tilted his head to one side, dark hair spilling messily about his face. "Well, I guess I should go. As Ron said, we've got Quidditch practice in the morning." He took another step and turned, his back now to Draco.

Who reached out and grabbed him around the waist.

Harry fell back against him, turning in his arms. Lips parted expectantly.

The kiss felt like an extension of the one from the Astronomy Tower. Hot, hard, desperate. _Eighteen days, _Draco murmured in his head before letting the two words drift from him into Harry.

"What?" Harry breathed against his mouth.

"Nothing." Draco pushed his hands into Harry's jumper, dragging it upwards. When Harry all but refused to pull away from his mouth, he roughly pushed him back. The Gryffindor became still, letting Draco free him from the confines of the garment. When he finally emerged from it, Harry's glasses had disappeared, caught in the jumper, and his hair stuck up messily, framing a face that was flushed with both excitement and desire.

Draco was very aware of the way he was breathing, the way it seemed to synchronize with the raise and fall of Harry's chest beneath his shirt. Harry stepped towards him again, but the Slytherin held him back, wanting to capture the image of how Harry looked at that moment. To commit it to memory and never, ever forget.

Naked eyes, bare emotions. Pupils large black pits dragging him in. Dark hair spilling like night, accentuating the sharp, flushed lines of his cheekbones. Mouth red, slightly open, lips wet from his tongue, which flicked subconsciously over them. The small framed body, adult yet still childlike. Shirttails dragged out on one side, still tucked neatly into his waistband on the other. Trousers just begging to be peeled away from the bulge that pressed into the material.

He reached out, taking hold of the shirt, and slipped a single button clear of its fastening.

Then the two fell onto each other, grabbing and pulling at clothes in an uncoordinated battle, which left Draco naked, and Harry on his knees. The desk crashed noisily against the wall as Draco fell back against the edge again, letting it take his weight. He grabbed for support as fingers closed around him and Harry's hot, wet mouth covered him.

_Eighteen days._

********************

He awoke in semi-darkness, and for some time lay unmoving against soft warm skin.

It was a strange sensation, having another body pressed against him.

New. Different. Exciting. Comforting.

As his eyes grew accustomed to the shadows, Harry allowed his own skin to sense the touch of Draco's naked body against him. Both on their sides, chest-to-chest, legs entwined, arms wrapped haphazardly about each other. He could feel a warm breath ghosting across the hollow of his throat and he moved slightly so that his cheek rested against Draco's head. Soft pale hair mingling with his own.

He wondered how long they'd been asleep. Draco had picked him up after Harry had made him come, and laid him on the narrow bed. Bedding had ended up strewn on the floor as Draco had touched him, making him writhe and squirm under his hands, fingers touching and holding in just the right places. Knowing how to make him beg and plead and come.

Afterwards they lay side-by-side in silence as Harry tried to still his fast-beating heart. When Draco had suddenly sat up, Harry had clutched at him, not wanting to lose the warm touch of the other's body. Draco had just smiled at him before opening the drawer of his bedside table and taking out a small glass bottle.

He then whispered to Harry to turn onto his stomach and had slowly rubbed and massaged the oil into Harry's back, long slender fingers removing the tension from his muscles, and leaving him with a warm satisfied glow. It had been one of the most sensual things he could ever remember happening to him.

He didn't remember drifting into sleep, but he was left with the feeling that Draco had carried on long after he was no longer aware of the touch.

There was just enough light from the low-burning fire to highlight the naked form next to him. Unable to resist any longer, Harry ran the tips of his fingers along Draco's hip, his hand dipping into the curve of Draco's waist, before retracing its journey back to the thigh.

The skin was smooth, and Harry swallowed apprehensively as his hand cupped Draco's arse, his arm curving against the warm skin. The Slytherin sighed lightly and settled closer. It still made him nervous to touch Draco despite what they had now shared. Touching someone so intimately was ... was almost like giving part of himself away.

Harry became very still for a moment, not wanting to rouse the boy in his arms. Wanting to keep this moment sacred, locked inside him so that he could remember it in the dark days ahead. Locked together with the memory of Draco in his hands ... in his mouth; and the taste of Draco as he ran his tongue over the soft creamy skin. The sight of Draco's eyes watching him; grey ice mixed with the palest dusky blue, like a frost-covered mountain stream.

And the sounds Draco made -- soft mewling noises that Harry was sure he could feel reverberating through flesh. Quiet cursing and swear words. How Harry longed to make Draco scream out loud. To shout and moan and writhe and squirm -- all because of his touch.

Harry's hand on Draco's arse moved feather-light, fingertips occasionally dipping down into the gap. He wanted to feel the sensation of touching Draco's skin again. And to brush against that fine dusting of blond hair.

He chuckled to himself, realising that a question he had asked himself in his journal had been answered. Draco was, indeed, a natural blond.

"Care to share the joke?"

Harry whipped his hand from Draco's behind as if stung, and pulled away. "Nothing." His hand went instinctively to straighten his glasses, only to realise he had no idea where they were. The hand continued into his hair, trying to make the gesture of pushing it back from his face seem as natural as possible. "It was nothing." 

"You don't have to stop either." Draco's voice purred deeply. "I was enjoying that." He ran his fingers down Harry's chest from throat to groin, pausing briefly to press lightly on his navel. Harry could feel the heat of their closeness before the fingers moved out across the Gryffindor's hip and onto his arse.

"How long have you been awake?" There was a hitch in Harry's voice as he spoke.

"A little while." The fingers moved between Harry's buttocks, pulling them slightly apart. Then suddenly Draco drew away, rolling over to sit on the edge of the bed before getting to his feet. He looked back over his shoulder. "You should go soon. Someone might notice your bed hasn't been slept in."

Harry was dazed by the sudden loss of contact, but he quickly pulled himself together. He propped himself up on his elbow and watched as the almost ghostly pale figure glistened in the firelight, gold upon silver as he crossed the room; skin stretching over muscle in taut synchronicity with each footfall.

_God, he's beautiful._

Harry was shocked at the thought even as it echoed in his mind. Draco beautiful? He tried to push the idea away, but it remained tantalizingly at the forefront of his conscious thought, trickling back unexpected when he was least expecting it. A tiny thread of sanity reminded him he didn't have his glasses on, and that any illusion of beauty was therefore moot.

_Look for beauty you can see properly, Harry._

But did he really need glasses to see that?

When Draco walked back to the bed, his eyes glinted, grey fire beneath the silver hair. He paused and still standing, reached for Harry's face, taking the waiting mouth with his own. Almost without thinking, Harry found himself on his knees, his own hands covering Draco's. The Slytherin didn't let go as he sat back on the bed and Harry climbed onto his lap, legs curling around the pale torso. The hands left his face, gathering him closer, pulling him against the warmth of Draco's body.

Touching from groin to lips, they held each other, the slow mutual caresses and kisses becoming more and more intimate as heat spiralled through their bodies. Mouths and fingers slowly explored, touching and caressing in mutual desire.

Harry basked in the sensation of Draco's touch. He loved how it made his body feel and his mind react and he just wanted to drown in the warmth it spread though him. Did Draco feel the same he wondered? Harry pulled back just enough to see the other's eyes and he thought he saw something in the icy depths. Was Draco as nervous as he felt? He always seemed so experienced, so knowledgeable. It was difficult to tell in the half-light. Harry held the gaze for a moment longer before pushing his hand through the tendrils of blond hair falling haphazardly around Draco's face.

Draco caught Harry's hand and pressed it against his lips. Harry gasped at the touch of tongue against his palm ... the feel of teeth along his fingers. And as Draco slipped the Gryffindor's index finger into his mouth, Harry's other hand dropped into his lap, fingers grazing over Draco's groin. He felt the mouth tighten around his finger as Draco sucked harder, the fingernails of the Slytherin's other hand digging into his back as he was pulled closer. In return, he nipped at Draco's shoulder and, when his finger finally slipped free of the hot mouth, Harry let his forehead drop against the warm curve of his neck.

Then Draco pushed his hand into Harry's hair and tugged gently. He looked up and met the grey eyes. "Do you still want me to go?"

He felt the hitch in Draco's breathing. "Did I say that?"

Lips brushed against each other, each touch deeper, harder, longer. Like the slow build of a storm or the moment a wave crests, just before it breaks onto the shore.

"That's good, because I don't want to go." He was so close to the Slytherin, all he could see were his eyes. All he could feel was his breath on his skin.

"Okay, but don't expect me to be responsible for you getting out of the Slytherin dungeons." The hand on Harry's back raked down his spine and pressed hard against the hollow of his back.

Harry tried to suppress a grin. "I got in on my own, so I think I can get out without any problem." He shifted a little and brushed his hand against Draco's erection. "Draco, I want..." Harry's voice faded as grey eyes held his gaze.

Draco remained very still, struggling not to respond. "What do you want?"

Swallowing, Harry tried to remain in control. He wanted Draco so much it hurt. If he didn't say this now he would lose his nerve. "I want you inside me."

"What?" The surprise in Draco's whispered voice was clear. "You don't have to do that."

"I know," his voice dropped, matching the level of his companion. 

The breath seemed to catch in Draco's throat as he gathered Harry's slight form in his arms. "Oh, Harry." They were so close he could feel the beat of Harry's heart against his own chest. Could he walk away and never have this again? Never hold Harry close to him or feel those red lips press against his own skin?

_It's just about sex,_ he reminded himself of his previous assertions.

_But, what if it is about something else as well?_

"Okay, if you're sure. But we'll do it my way." Draco drew back and raised a hand, pointing at the candles on a small side table and intoned quietly, _"Lumos." _They spluttered into life, filling the room with a soft glow.

Harry blinked in the sudden brightness after the near dark. "Do you really need more light?" He felt self-conscious.

"Of course." Draco's hands slipped down Harry's body. "I want to see you."

"Oh." The simple word was suddenly turned into a breathless sigh as Draco traced the tip of his tongue along Harry's jaw. He was lost again -- lost in the world of sensitised skin and warm caresses as Draco lips followed the line of his throat downward, soft fine hair brushing over his skin. He leaned back a little to give Draco more room as he kissed the pulse point at his throat, before sucking hard and marking him.

"Do it again," Harry finally managed to respond, his voice a whisper.

"Do what, Harry?"

"Mark me, but somewhere no one will be able to see it."

"Are you afraid of people asking where you got a lovebite from? Or are you expecting me to remove the others as well?"

"I just..." Harry could feel the blood rush to his face and he knew he must have been blushing. "Others?"

"Sure," Draco laughed lightly. "This one for example." He suddenly picked up Harry's arm, sucking hard just below the inner bend of the elbow. "Or here." A red mark bloomed at the base of Harry' neck.

"I don't want it removed." Harry's expression became coy and his voice husky. "I want it to stay there and for you to know it's there."

Draco looked at him and leaned close to his ear. "Lay down."

Gathering Harry in arms, Draco pushed him backwards and knelt over him.

Harry's arms dropped away from Draco's neck, and he smiled up, green eyes almost black.

Draco shifted down the bed; trailing a hand up Harry's inner thigh. Harry seemed to shiver beneath his touch, and when he finally stopped with the hand nestling high up on the right inner thigh, he heard an audible whimper. "Okay?"

"Yes."

"Good."

Draco's hand pushed at Harry's knee, bending his leg, and he leaned in to the soft pale skin on the inside of Harry's leg. He took time to run his hands and mouth over the skin, aware of the way the muscles tensed beneath his mouth. Then finally, almost overwhelmed by the taste and closeness he left three marks each about an inch apart high up on Harry's inner thigh. "There. Marked."

"Yes." The word was almost inaudible.

"Yes," Draco breathed back as rested his cheek on the marked skin. He crawled up Harry's body and leaned close to his ear. "Turn over." 

"Like this?" Harry turned on to his stomach, head resting on his arms, legs slightly spread.

"Mmm," murmured Draco as he leaned down and bushed Harry's hair away from his neck. He kissed the pale flesh, letting his hands slowly rove over Harry's back as he followed the line of the boy's spine downward, tongue learning each tiny ridge. He had found out earlier where Harry liked to be touched, where he was ticklish, and what made him moan. This time, instead of his fingers, he used his lips and tongue and teeth to make the boy writhe and gasp. Draco had made him scream earlier and he wondered what noise he could extract from that wonderful mouth now.

Finally, he reached the small of Harry's back and lowered his head to the warm flesh.

"Harry."

At first there was no reply, then Harry let out one of the little squeaks that Draco found so endearing. It was not the noise one would expect from Harry the Hero under any condition. It was followed by a muffled "Yes?"

"Did you like that?"

"Mmmph," Harry managed to respond.

"Shall I carry on?" His question was rewarded by another squeak. 

Sitting up, Draco reached for the bottle of oil he had used earlier and poured a small amount onto his palm before carefully rubbing both hands together. The sandalwood scented oil was one he used in his ritual magic and he wondered if he would ever be able to smell it again without thinking of Harry.

The oil quickly warmed and he slowly ran one hand down Harry's back, fingers tracing along the edge of each vertebrae. Moving the hand to the small of Harry's back, he placed his other hand next to it, holding them both still. He could feel the movement of muscles beneath the oiled skin; steady breathing interspersed by an occasional hitched gasp. Then slowly he finally moved, pushing both hands up towards Harry's neck and then down his sides. They became still again.

A groan of pleasure escaped Harry's lips, and Draco could feel it in his hands as the boy relaxed into his touch. He could see the tension flooding out of Harry's back, as he seemed to become boneless under his touch. In fact, Draco realised with a modicum of satisfaction, Harry didn't even seem to react when he slid his oiled fingers into the cleft between Harry's buttocks. This was, he decided, going to be very interesting.

Harry followed the rhythmic movements of Draco's hands over his body, basking in the sensation of being touched, the physical contact something he had long craved. He let out a long sigh of contentment, allowing his body to sink further into the soft mattress.

Coating his hand with a little more oil, Draco leaned down and ran the tip of his tongue along the shell of his ear. "Turn on your side, facing me," he whispered, his own hand pushing Harry's hip backwards. 

"Mmmm, okay." The smaller boy settled on his left side, facing Draco who took the opportunity to kiss him.

"Closer." Harry wiggled a little nearer and Draco placed a hand onto his right hip, running it along the curve of his buttock. "Now, put your right leg over mine." As Harry shifted his leg, Draco ran his fingers down the back of his thigh, the pressure enough to bend the leg over his.

He kissed Harry, hand sliding into the cleft, his finger lingering for a moment before taking that final step.

Harry's gasp of surprise was lost in the shared kiss. He pulled back, a sob on his lips as he thought he might die or maybe fracture into a million pieces. For a heart stopping moment he tied to pull away.

Draco pulled him closer, kissing his temple, his eyes, his cheek. "It's okay," the silky, soft voice reassured tenderly. "Just relax." 

"Draco," Harry gasps, fingers gripping into Draco's arms.

"I can stop." Draco kissed the corner of his mouth.

Harry's grip tightened even as he tried to settle down "No..." He whispered. "No, that's fine." He let out a gasp as Draco flexed the finger a little. He almost sobbed. The feeling of warm syrup he had experienced before was pouring warmth into his body, turning him into a quivering wreak. The warmth gathered in his groin, making him hard again. "If you keep doing that, I'll ruin your sheets."

"Then I'd better stop," the liquid voice vibrated against the curve of his neck.

Draco pulled his hand away slowly. For a moment they remained unmoving, nestled together. He could feel Draco's breath, a counterpoint to the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed in an out. The warmth in his groin solidified into a fist and he warred within himself -- to let go and feel the crescendo of climax or to try and hold it off. All he needed to do was to reach down and touch himself.

"Are you still sure?" Draco asked again, fingers curling around Harry's hips.

Harry nodded and started to disentangle himself from Draco's arms. 

"No, stay there." Harry gazed at him questioningly. "Just sit up." Draco rolled onto his back, pulling Harry with him so that the smaller boy ended on his knees, straddling his body. Harry shifted a little as Draco's erection pressed against him, the pressure making him feel a little light-headed.

"I want you to be in charge," Draco shifted just a little so that Harry nestled against him, "instead of me. You sit down on me. Anytime it's too much, you can just stop."

"Oh. I thought..." Harry frowned, looking bewildered -- uncertain. "I thought you would..." He shrugged. "You know..."

"Pound you into the ground?" Both boys smiled at the reference Draco had made to Ron during the Valentine Ball. "Is that what you want?"

"I don't know. I've never..."

Draco rested a hand on Harry's thigh. "Can you get the oil?"

"This?" Harry reached for the bottle, the movement pushing him against Draco's groin as he moved. The pressure elicited a moan from both, and Harry pushed against him a second time. When he sat back, bottle in hand, he could see Draco's throat working and the fast-beating movement of his heart in his chest, like a butterfly trapped beneath his skin.

Leaning forward, he kissed the heartbeat, letting it pulse against his mouth for a moment.

When he sat back up, Harry had left a small red mark on the centre of Draco's chest. It showed up starkly against the otherwise pale flesh, almost heart-shaped. His fingers brushed across the mark before he turned his attention to the little oil bottle. The lid twisted off easily, and Harry tipped some of the oil into his palm before returning the bottle to the bedside table. He rubbed his hands together, spreading the oil over both hands. It made a satisfying squidgy sound between his fingers and the soft woody aroma was soothing and sensual. He paused for a moment, breathing in the scent and then lowered both hands onto Draco.

Grey eyes widened at the touch, before the lids dropped closed as Draco sucked in a lungful of air. He held his breath as Harry slowly stroked him, oiled fingers curling around the thickness, palm lingering as it cupped the end, before letting go and repeating the movement with his other hand.

Finally releasing him, Harry trailed his fingers across Draco's abdomen, the skin trembling under his touch. He let the fingers graze slowly upwards, passed the navel, over the hardness of the breast bone and into the soft hollow at the base of Draco's throat. Harry swallowed as he watched the still face.

Eyes closed, hair spread on the pillow, barely breathing.

Letting the back of his hand stroke Draco's flushed cheek, Harry's fingers finally pushed into the silver strands of hair and he leaned forward to kiss the boy,

As if woken from a dream, Draco's eyes opened and he finally remembered to breathe. Harry's soft, gentle tongue parted his lips, the touch so light it was almost as if it hadn't existed at all. As the dark-haired boy straightened, Draco found his voice again. "Are you sure you haven't done this before?" The question elicited one of Harry's most enigmatic smiles, and he pushed down, flexing his hips against those beneath him.

Eyes looked on each other, green and grey both bright with emotion.

_Ready?_ the Grey asked.

_Yes, _Green answered.

Briefly Draco's fingers intertwined with Harry's, giving them a brief squeeze. Then the long-fingered hands pulled free and once again reached for Harry's hips, raising him up slightly, away from the body beneath him.

As he knelt there, Harry stretched out a hand and allowed the magic he had recently learned to flow freely from his fingers. It extinguished the candles, plunging the room into the red/gold glow of the fire. The same magic flowed down through him, cocooning them both in an ethereal light of emotional colour, texture and protection. He thought he heard Draco hiss and Harry knew he was lost.

Lost in a world of need and want. Of tactile fingers and silky, soft skin. Draco's eyes never wavered from his own as they came together. Became part of each other.

"Oh... Draco."

"Please, Harry." Fingers danced over Harry's body, caressing skin, grazing over his erection as he sank lower, finally resting his weight back on Draco's lap. "Please."

Sitting quite still, Harry marvelled at the way he felt. How the sensation sent sparks through his body, setting his nerve endings alight. He wanted to move, but knew that if he did it would break the spell and it would be over. Knew that if he didn't he might just die. 

He looked at Draco. At the way his skin was flushed, gleaming slightly in the firelight. At his almost black eyes, pupils fully dilated so that the grey was invisible. At the slightly open mouth and red, bitten, trembling lips. And he leaned forward to kiss them. 

Draco bucked beneath him, the sensation as new to him as it was to Harry. Alex had never let him do this ... never. It was always the older man in him. He came instantly, with a curse on his lips and cry ripped from deep inside him. Hands grabbed at Harry's hips and he bent his knees, pushing Harry back against them with one hand, while the other wrapped about the dark-haired boy. But Harry had already reached his plateau and was crashing down the other side; the sensation of Draco's climax triggering his own orgasm.

They clung together like drowning men as the aftershocks slowly subsided. Desperate hands clutching as if scared the other might disappear, or that the whole thing might just be a dream. In the darkness nothing else existed but their sweat-soaked bodies and the feel and taste of each other.

Finally, Harry pulled free and sank down onto the body beneath him, feeling arms surround him, holding him close.

"I'm sorry," a voice whispered.

"Why?" Harry reached up, tucking blond hair behind Draco's ear. 

"That it was over so quickly."

"It doesn't matter." His hand lingered on Draco's cheek.

"I've never..."

"Oh?"

"It was always him fucking me. I didn't realise it could feel like this." Draco let out a little sigh, settling closer.

"This wasn't 'fucking', Draco. Don't cheapen it." If Harry wondered who the 'him' was, he didn't question.

"No. What was that magic?" Fingers gently brushed over skin.

"For protection. So we would be safe."

"Oh. You make me feel safe, Mouse."

"Don't call me that, or I will turn you into a ferret."

"Okay, what about big brave Lion then?"

"No. I'm 'Harry', Draco. Just Harry."

As the two drifted into sleep, Harry's magic settled over them like a blanket, keeping them protected from the Darkness, which lingered around the boundary of the room. Creeping ever closer, it began to slowly unravel the edges of their blanket.

********************

There was a small clock on Draco's bedside table. Harry had noticed it earlier. It had a silver case and face with black numbers and Harry thought it looked as unwizard-like as a clock could be. He turned towards it now, speaking softly. _"Tempus."_

Nothing. The clock just sat there, ticking quickly to itself. Of course, just because it didn't respond to that spell, didn't mean anything. He carefully wriggled free of Draco's embrace and sat up on the bed, legs hanging over the side, and squinted at the clock. It was nearly 4am.

With a sigh, he realised he had to get back to Gryffindor Tower and -- he wrinkled his nose -- take a shower. The smell of sandalwood and sex on his skin was still strong and he hoped he'd meet no one on his journey back. His cloak would only make him invisible after all. His mouth curved in a small smile at the thought of someone like Filch or Snape smelling sandalwood as he wafted by and wondering what the hell was going on. As for Mrs Norris, he didn't stand a chance of avoiding her at the moment.

Coming to his feet, Harry stretched lazily. His body felt strange and he was aware of places he'd never even considered before. There was a tenderness as well, and as he stretched out some of the ache, he realised he would rather not have to spend hours on a broom doing Quidditch practice in a little over six hours. Maybe he could persuade Ron to concentrate on strategy and keep the flying to a minimum.

Squinting into the darkness of the room, Harry wondered what had happened to his glasses. He remembered having them when he came to the room, but not what became of them. Whispering a new location spell Sirius had taught him a few days ago, a little ball of light appeared on his palm. It reminded him of Tinkerbell as it sat there, waiting for his command. He told it what he was looking for and watched as it flitted about the room; finally coming to rest on the floor.

He padded across the floor and crouched down. The light was just enough to illuminate his jumper and he found what he was looking for caught up in the stitches. "Ha!" he mumbled softly to himself. "I told you I could make it work, Sirius." Thanking the light (Earth magic was all alive, his godfather kept reminding him), he put on his glasses and flicked a hand at the candles. _"Lumos."_ This time nothing happened and he glared at the offending candles. What was it Sirius had told him about not getting smug? He retrieved his wand from his bag and, using it to focus the energy, tried again. The candles sparked to life and Harry quickly brought their light down to a soft glow, just enough to see by.

Clothing was strewn across the floor. How could two people make such a mess? He reached for his boxers and pulled them on before picking up a dark blue shirt that belonged to Draco. It was made out of something soft and it reminded him of the one Draco had magicked at Hagrid's. He loved the red silk and wondered for a moment if this was the same.

Harry pulled it on, smoothing it down over his torso. It was a little too long in the sleeves, and he decided it had probably been tailored just for Draco. It also felt very nice and he considered for a moment asking where it had come from. Maybe he could get something like it for himself. Casting a quick glance at the bed, he pulled at the front, bringing the material to his face, and sniffed at it. With the overwhelming smell of sandalwood on his skin, it was difficult to find any other smell, but finally he traced what he was looking for. The cloves and cinnamon scent that was Draco. He breathed it deeply in before letting go of the fabric. Would Draco miss the shirt if he tried to sneak it out in his bag?

Harry began picking up the other items, eventually piling Draco's clothes on a chair next to the bed. The oil bottle was still there, on the bedside table, and he picked it up to put the lid back on. Its surface was slippery with the oil and it slid from his fingers. He tried to catch it, the oil spilling both over his hands and into the open drawer of the table.

"Bollocks!" The word was an annoyed, urgent hiss as he tried to limit the damage caused. He grabbed at a handful of items in the drawer, trying to get them out before the oil spread over them. In his haste, it never occurred to him that his hands were covered in the stuff.

He reached for a large faceted emerald.

"No! DON'T touch that!"

The voice screamed from a great distance, and Harry felt a sudden emptiness in his stomach as if his world had just disintegrated. It momentarily tugged at him and as he was flung from his feet, his world went black.

-------------------------------------------------------

_You've done it all; you've broken every code_

_And pulled the rebel to the floor_

_You spoilt the game, no matter what you say_

_For only metal -- what a bore!_

_Blue eyes, blue eyes, how come you tell so many lies?_

Make Me Smile (Come Up and See Me) -- Steve Harley & Cockney Rebel

-------------------------------------------------------

**Chapter 5: Emeralds and Diamonds: Harry wakes up...**

-------------------------------------------------------

**Author's Note: **The Hallows Capstone isn't one of the stones in the monument at Stonehenge. The purpose of the Parliament, who the Families of Parliament are and more about the Stone and its location will be explained over the next few chapters. For anyone who might wonder where the places mentioned in this chapter are located, please check out the following maps: http://www.christiaan.com/stonehenge/info/tourists/tourist_map/

**Special thanks**

**To my Betas (in alphabetical order):** _Alex, Ina, Milena, Penguin, Plumeria, Tine_ and _Zed_. These people have been patient, supportive and without them the chapter would never have gotten finished. Special mention must go to _Zed_ (my sex guru) and _Milena_ who have both read this at least three times. Their stamina amazes me.

To _Plumeria_ for helping me with the rating of this chapter and making sure I hadn't included anything I shouldn't.

To _Olivia_Lupin_ and Milena for their anagram skills and managing to come up with a usable name for David Tom Morello.

To _everyone at LiveJournal _who have answered my stupid questions over the last few months

To _everyone on at Worlds_Colliding_ for their continued support and inspiration.

**Artwork:** I am very lucky to have several new pieces of artwork drawn for this chapter. They are linked in the appropriate places throughout the chapter.

**Bhanesidhe's artwork:** Ron in the Armando Dippet Memorial Library, Harry and Sirius, Harry's vision,

**Milena's artwork:** The Sofa, Blush, The Potions Storeroom, The Kiss.

**Plumeria's artwork:** "I can give you tonight"

**There are two Yahoo groups associated with my stories: **

The adult group for Resolution can be found at: Worlds_Colliding: The Restricted Section: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/HP_Worlds_Colliding_2/

The general group can be found at Worlds_Collinding . The R-rated version of _Resolution_ and my non-slash story _Coming of Age_ can be found here. http://groups.yahoo.com/group/HP_Worlds_Colliding/

Any reviews are more than welcome, either here, to me at frances.potter@tesco.net or feel free to post your comments at _Worlds_Colliding._

**As the links to artwork in the text don't work on ff.net, the links are as follows:**

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/HP_Worlds_Colliding/files/Artwork/Resolution/Artwork_by_Sidhe/Res05_Harry_Sirius.jpg 

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/HP_Worlds_Colliding/files/Artwork/Resolution/Artwork_by_Sidhe/Res05_Ron.jpg 

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/HP_Worlds_Colliding/files/Artwork/Resolution/Artwork_by_Sidhe/Res05_Harry_vision.jpg 

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/HP_Worlds_Colliding/files/Artwork/Resolution/Artwork_by_Milena/Res05_Blush.jpg 

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/HP_Worlds_Colliding/files/Artwork/Resolution/Artwork_by_Milena/Res05_Kiss.jpg 

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/HP_Worlds_Colliding/files/Artwork/Resolution/Artwork_by_Milena/Res05_Storeroom.jpg 

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/HP_Worlds_Colliding/files/Artwork/Resolution/Artwork_by_Milena/Res05_Thesofa.jpg 

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/HP_Worlds_Colliding/files/Artwork/Resolution/Artwork_by_Plumeria/Res05_Sofa_writing.jpg 


	6. Emeralds and Diamonds

**Title: Resolution. Chapter 6: Emeralds and Diamonds (6/?)**

**Author name: **Frances Potter

**Author email:** frances.potter@worlds-colliding.co.uk

**Category: **Slash (Harry/Draco), Humour, Romance, Angst

**Keywords:** Harry, Draco, 7th year, Slash

**Spoilers:** All books

**Rating:** R. Slash. Male/Male sexual relationship. Language. Adult themes.

**Summary:**  
_res·o·lu·tion, noun -- solving of doubts, problems, questions etc. The Concise Oxford Dictionary_  
When you've spent six years fighting evil, all you really want is a quiet time. But when your name is Harry Potter the chances of that are very slim. Exams, friends, lovers, enemies, Quidditch, birthdays, the war and Draco all conspire to make Harry's final six months very, very complicated and the end of term a long way off. Slash (Harry/Draco)

**Chapter 6: Emerald and Diamonds. Harry wakes up.**

**Disclaimer: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

The concept of Earth magic and seeing stones are both based loosely on ideas in _"The Amtrak Wars"_ books by Patrick Tilley (published by Sphere).

**Dedication:  
**To **Cheryl,** for her never-ending patience, eye for detail and for being my friend. Thank you Dear Heart.

**Author's note:** _Resolution_ was started before the publication of _Order of the Phoenix _and is based on the canon of PS/SS, CoS, PoA and GoF. While certain canon facts from _OotP_ will be incorporated in the story (such as spells and locations), the events of Harry's 5th year in _Resolution_ are **NOT** the same as those in **OotP**.

Amongst other things, _Resolution_ makes the following assumptions: 1. Sirius Black is alive. 2. Voldemort's return at the end of GoF is not common knowledge to the Wizarding world and many people, including the Ministry of Magic still refuse to believe it. 3. Lucius Malfoy is still considered to be a pillar of the community and any connections he might have with the Dark Lord remain a secret. 4. Draco Malfoy was never picked as a prefect. 5. Wizards love to ski!

------------------------------

_Only in the agony of parting do we look into the depths of love --_ George Eliot 

------------------------------

Chapter 6: Emeralds and Diamonds 

**_Diagon Alley ... Wednesday 16th August 1995 ... The Summer after the Triwizard Tournament ... Early afternoon_**

"Sorry I'm late." Ron Weasley, his face a little flushed from running, came to a halt beside the table. "I couldn't get away from my brothers." Breathing deeply, he put down his bag and leaned on the chair back for support.

"It's okay. We've got plenty of time." Sapphire eyes gleaming from under a shock of jet-black hair, David Morrello leaned forward and rested his elbows on the tabletop. "So, which brothers held you up?" 

This was David's fifth meeting with the boy since their first encounter in the Armando Dippet Memorial Library and he was very pleased with how pliant Ron was. He had been told the boy was strong willed, but it was easy to twist the mind when someone was desperate. 

"Fred and George." Ron was still panting for breath, his chest rising and falling beneath the tight-fitting t-shirt. The garment had pulled out of his jeans on one side and he tried to tuck it back in without much success. "They were looking for new ingredients for something they wanted to make and thought I would enjoy being dragged around with them."

"Oh yes, the twins. Is this their final year just coming up?" He nodded to the chair, watching as the 16-year-old redhead dragged it out and sat down.

Ron nodded and took a swipe at his messy hair. "Yeah. They keep saying they're going to spend it messing about, but then I catch them reading up on school stuff." He finally looked at David and grinned. 

"Well, you know what I think about studying." David straightened. "Talking of study, how did you get on with the new book?"

Scrabbling in his bag, Ron pulled out a thin leather-covered book. "I finished it."

"Good." David signalled to the waiter and ordered coffee for himself and milkshake for Ron. The table was set in a little alcove away from the crowded interior of The Tiny Toadstool, a favourite restaurant for out-of-town witches on a trip to the big city. "What did you think of it?"

"Well..." Ron leaned forward, resting an elbow on the table and cupping his chin with his hand. "I'm still not sure. I mean, we all know that if magical people don't marry outside of the Wizarding world, we'd all die out eventually."

"What makes you say that?" David fell silent as the waiter returned with their drinks. He watched as Ron drank thirstily from his glass, almost emptying it before putting it down and wiping away a little moustache of milk with the back of his hand.

"It's obvious. There just aren't enough of us."

"That is what they want you to think." Pushing his cup aside, David leaned forward, his voice a whisper. "It's all part of the Muggle plan to obliterate us completely. Non-magical people have been attempting to get rid of us since the beginning of time. They've persecuted us openly for generations, but it didn't work. Now they are trying from the inside. They want to breed magic out of us."

"But..."

"Ron, you read what Mr Gates said in his book. Every time one of our kind marries outside of our people they dilute the magic of us all." David jabbed at the desk as if to make his point clearer. "Remember what we talked about last time?"

The boy nodded. "About our innate magic?"

"Yes. _Our _magic. _Our_ power. _Our _inheritance. Not the Muggles, but _ours. _It's all around us, running through us. _Part _of us, Ron. And each time one of us takes a Muggle as a partner we dilute that gift. The child born from such a union is a little bit less powerful, a little more ungifted. Even if that child marries a magical person, they will carry that taint into the next generation, and the next and the next."

"But lots of Wizarding families have Muggle relatives."

"I know, even I have them in my family. But if we carry on letting Muggles into our society in a few more generations we will be as powerless as they are. No more magic, Ron, no more flying or things like this." He waved his hand and a plate of Cauldron Cakes appeared on the table between them. "Your grandchildren will all be squibs if we allow the Muggles to keep polluting us." One of the cakes floated from the plate and settled on the table just in front of Ron. The paper case slowly unwrapped itself, turning into a delicate china plate as it flattened against the wood. "There are more and more squibs being born to pure-blood families. We don't hear about them because our government doesn't want us to know, because then we would find out that they have betrayed us all." Reaching for the cake, David broke a piece of it off and offered it up to the boy. "This is just another of the ways they've sold us out, Ron. They've been selling us out for years." Ron opened his mouth.

"You can help us get our inheritance back."

********************

**_The Present ... Friday 6th March 1998 ... 4am ... Slytherin Dungeons_**

_"No! DON'T touch that!"_

Harry staggered back against the cold glass of the window and tried to breathe, tried to get a grip on what was happening. He'd gone to Draco's room. They had -- well, he'd think about that later. Then he'd knocked over the oil bottle and it had gone everywhere. The last thing he remembered was reaching for a huge emerald in the drawer, then blackness....

And then ... here....

He scrutinized the opulent book-lined room. Was this Hogwarts still? It didn't _feel_ like Hogwarts, but he knew there were loads of rooms he'd never visited in his six and a half years at the school. Odd details pushed into his clouded mind as he reached out a hand for support.

Darkness spilling in through the windows ... large desk, surprisingly plain considering the other furniture ... several chairs ... empty fireplace with a crest he thought he recognised ... wooden floor with a thick carpet ... portraits....

This had to be a dream, he decided. _I'm asleep and this is all a dream. _But it felt so real. Normally his dreams had an element of fantasy about them, with very vivid colours and objects sharply in focus. They didn't have such clarity of thought either. Had he ever been able to question his own thoughts and let his mind wander like this in a dream? This felt like real life. He could feel cold air sneaking in through the window frame, and the hardness of the floor beneath his bare feet.

Bare feet?

Harry looked down and found that his feet were, indeed, bare. As were his legs. He was standing in a strange room wearing nothing but his boxers and an unbuttoned shirt and there was ... _ugh_ ... oil and ... _eww_ ... dried stuff ... on his skin. The oil was in his hair as well ... in fact it seemed to be everywhere. Of course it was everywhere -- hadn't Draco made sure of that? With a grimace, he wiped his hands on the shirt and began fastening the buttons. The ridiculousness of the situation made him snigger. _This is a dream and I'm worried about my shirt being undone._

Leaving just the two lower buttons fastened, Harry unconsciously tugged down the hem of his shirt and took a deep breath. Then carefully, as if unsure where the movement might take him, he stepped forward and placed a foot on the carpet. It felt real, solid, and he took another step. The tufts of wool tickled the soles of his feet and the thought he'd already discounted edged back into his mind. 

What if this was reality and he was actually "somewhere else"? If it was, how did he get here? Harry ran through recent events in his head and considered the emerald in Draco's bedside table again. He felt certain that it was important ... as though there was some connection between it and himself. What if...

Harry came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the room. What was it Draco had said at Hagrid's cottage about the coin being a Portkey? He had wondered at the time if Draco had been trying to scare him, but if he had been telling the truth, what then? What if the Slytherin had a Portkey of his own -- something to let him get out of the school, and Harry had touched it by mistake? If that was the case, he could be anywhere. This could even be...

The click of a key turning in a lock made Harry jump. He stared wide-eyed at the door, petrified for a moment in horror at the thought of being discovered in some stranger's home. His eyes darted around the room, looking for somewhere to hide. There was nowhere, not even curtains, and all he could do was freeze to the spot as the candles in the wall sconces flared into life.

An instantly recognisable blond-haired figure strode purposefully into the room.

It was Lucius Malfoy and Harry knew at once that this was Malfoy Manor.

********************

"Harry?"

Draco scrambled from the bed and onto the floor where the Gryffindor lay. "Harry!" He dropped to his knees, ignoring the cold stone beneath them, and held out a hand towards the still figure, fingers stopping short of the unnaturally pale skin as a strange sense of dread filled him. Harry looked like a broken doll, thrown down by some spoilt child; bare legs twisted unnaturally, arms spread haphazardly to either side. The blue shirt was thrown open, spread out like a silken sheet beneath him and his head was tilted to one side, mouth slightly open.

He looked dead.

A wave of relief finally flowed through Draco as he realised that Harry was breathing. He reached for the boy, removing his glasses. "Come on, Potter, talk to me."

The movement let Harry's head tilt further to the right, exposing more of the dark tangled hair and with slightly trembling fingers, Draco prodded at the exposed skull, scared of finding blood, grateful when his fingers came away clean.

He let his fingers move to Harry's cheek, lingering there for a moment before running over the strangely serene face. They traced the features, pausing against the slightly parted lips to feel damp breath, teasing at an eyelid in the hope the movement might rouse him, and finally pushing dark hair from the damp forehead. Fingertips moved over the scar -- dark red against the unnaturally pale skin. Harry was clearly breathing. But....

But what? Draco traced the scar again, remembering how alive and vibrant Harry had felt when he touched him; as though the strength of his personality was a vital force that could be felt. Now it just felt like ...

It felt like Harry wasn't _there _anymore. That this body was just a shell.

Perplexed and with a bubble of fear building in his stomach, Draco lightly slapped Harry. "If you are mucking about, Potter, I will kill you." Nothing ... not even a flicker of response. "Come on!" He tugged at the shirt; panic mixed with the fear he was feeling, making him a little light headed and sick. Anxiety mounting, he pulled at the shirt. "What the hell are you doing with my shirt, you kleptomaniac Gryffindor?" He'd hoped the comment would make Harry laugh and open his eyes in righteous indignation, but still there was nothing.

Sitting back, Draco grabbed for Harry's shoulders, shaking him. When that didn't work he shook harder and harder, until in the end, he had pulled the unresisting body from the floor. Like a rag doll, Harry hung limply in his grasp, totally unresponsive.

"This is ridiculous." He let the body down gently onto the floor again and scrambled to his feet. The drawer to his bedside table was still open, and he pawed at the contents, cursing under his breath at not being able to find what he was looking for. Grey eyes skittered around the floor until they found the emerald his father had sent him lying innocuously several feet away from the bedside table.

He picked it up, letting out a little hiss of pain as a sharp edge on the once smooth surface dug into his palm. Sucking at the blood, he studied the fracture that now marred the stone's once flawless surface. He was sure the crack hadn't been there the last time he'd looked at the emerald and the simple act of being dropped to the floor couldn't have caused the damage. Was Harry responsible? He knew Harry had touched the stone because he'd knocked it out of the Gryffindor's hand. So why was Harry unconscious on the floor instead of being transported off to god-only-knows where?

Draco hefted the stone. He should have hidden it better ... made sure there was no way Harry could ever have found it. But how was he supposed to assume Harry might one day be in his room rummaging through that particular drawer? He turned the gem over and over as if it would give him the answers he was searching for.

"What did you do with this, father? Why did you tell me it was a Portkey if it isn't?" His voice was a whisper. "If it wasn't a Portkey, then what was it?"

As he looked back at the unconscious form on the floor all sorts of horror stories flooded into his mind; objects could be charmed to do just about anything if you knew the right magic. His father had shown him spells that would leave someone in a charmed sleep and several assassination curses that would kill without leaving a trace of what the caster had done.

He pushed a restless hand through his hair. What was the point of putting Harry into a charmed sleep? His father wanted Harry, of that much Draco was certain, so why waste time putting him to sleep when he could Portkey him out of the castle?

Shit! The castle! Could Portkeys work through the castle wards? What was it his father had said in the letter sent with the coin back in January? _This Portkey is to be used when Potter is away from the school._ Did that really mean Harry was safe from a Portkey spell within the confines of the castle?

But why would his father lie? Why tell him the stone was a Portkey if it was charmed for some other purpose? If he contacted Lucius now, would his father have some method of spiriting the unconscious boy away from the safety of Hogwarts? Was _that _what Lucius expected him to do?

Placing the stone on the bedside table, he scooted back to Harry's side. He would try to fathom his father's rationale later. For the moment Harry, and why he was unconscious, were the most important things. With surprising tenderness, Draco pushed his hand through the unruly black hair, once again smoothing it from the boy's face. Then he picked up Harry's hand; it hung limply in his own fingers, totally unresponsive even when Draco pinched the back of it very hard.

"Okay, Harry, maybe you've just fainted. If we give you a few more minutes, you'll just come round." He sat back on his haunches, a finger tapping out a nervous beat on his bare knee. "But I can't leave you on the floor can I?" He tried hard not to hear the nervousness in his own voice as he struggled to lift the dead weight from the floor. "God, Potter, have you put on weight?" Finally managing to get back to his feet, Draco stood still for a moment, cradling the unconscious boy in his arms. His lips brushed against the damp surface of Harry's temple and he whispered Harry's name against the lightning bolt scar.

"Okay..." His jaw tightened as he carried the unresisting body to the relative safety of the bed where, intoning a warming spell, he attempted to make Harry as comfortable as possible. The boy settled on his right side and Draco returned to fiddling with the messy black hair. "Come on, Harry, now bloody well WAKE UP!" The last words were screamed into the unconscious boy's face. "Please!" The final plea was dragged like a ragged breath from deep within him.

The next five minutes were the longest of his life. It felt like each second was somehow magically transformed into a minute and then each minute into an hour. Draco sat at the foot of the bed, hugging his own knees, watching the still figure. It took him a full 15 minutes to accept the fact that Harry was not playing a practical joke nor was he just asleep.

This was serious.

So serious that Draco knew he needed help.

********************

Hermione Granger was in the middle of a very pleasant dream. It was like most of her dreams -- full of nice shiny happy things that made her smile in her sleep. Her grandfather had once told her that she slept the sleep of the righteous. She had never really been sure what he meant, but nightmares were a rarity and she never had any problems sleeping.

Remembering her dreams had never been a problem either and, despite her insistence that Divination was woolly nonsense, she had kept a dream diary since the start of her seventh year. Not that any of them had ever come true, of course.

Tonight's dream was most agreeable and involved the whole school celebrating May Day. There was a huge picnic and everyone was dressed in their Sunday best, the girls in floaty dresses and the boys in equality floaty shirts -- though their trousers were rather tight, she had to admit. Students were dancing around a Maypole, making intricate patterns with their ribbons.

She was sitting on a huge throne-like chair, crowned Queen of the May, and there were showers of apple blossom falling like snow on everyone.

At her feet, Ron and Harry were playing chess. They were laughing and happy together as they had been in their first year at school when life had been simple; there was no Voldemort to fight and any dangers were only seen through the eyes of a child as Great Adventures. Ron was winning as usual and he had just taken one of Harry's knights. "You'd better watch your Queen, Harry, she'll be the next to go."

Harry grinned impishly. "Well, Ron, occasionally you have to sacrifice something very important in order to win." He moved his Queen with a nonchalant flick of his hand.

"I warned you." The white Queen was pummelled to the ground by one of Ron's Knights.

"Yes you did, Ron." Harry picked up his Bishop and moved it across the board. "Checkmate."

Ron's expression became dark as he scrutinised the board and when he finally smiled in defeat there was no humour in his face. "Well done." He picked up his King and held it out to the victor.

_"No! DON'T touch that!"_

********************

"Granger."

The voice came from a long way off, getting closer as she tried to swim through a room full of apple blossom. She was being chased by chess pieces and the Black King was currently trying to drag her back down into the suffocating mass of petals.

"Granger!"

Something shook her violently and Hermione's eyes flashed open as she snapped herself instantly from the nightmare into reality. They darted around the darkened room, finally settling on the one small spot of light. It was focused just above her, illuminating a face, stark white, almost skeletal. She let out a yelp of surprise and fear, dragging blankets over her as she scrambled back -- away from the face -- away from the danger.

"Shush ... don't scream ... shush." The circle of light moved and suddenly the room was filled with the glow of candles. "It's only me -- Malfoy."

Hermione stared, her expression a cross between disbelief and shock. "Malfoy?" She shook her head, clearing the sense of confusion and sleep, which still permeated through her. The shock began to condense into anger and, now fully awake, her eyes blazed. "How the hell did you get in here?"

He stepped back, finally lowering his wand. "It doesn't matter..." 

"It bloody does." While the anger fermented, Hermione did a double take at the Slytherin. She had never seen Malfoy look like this. The normally pristine boy's robes were fastened incorrectly and his hair was slicked untidily to his head. He looked, she decided, like he had just been dragged out of bed. "You manage to get into Gryffindor Tower ... into _my_ room ... in the middle of the night and you say it doesn't matter." She scrambled to her feet and quickly grabbed her dressing gown. "There are passwords and things."

"Look Granger, I don't have time for petty details. We can discuss passwords later. I need..." He hefted his wand nervously. "It's Potter."

"Harry?" Hermione stared at him, the anger instantly dissipating at the mention of her friend. "Harry?" Then she saw it. Clutched in Draco's hand was an invisibility cloak she was sure belonged to Harry. Her look became fierce. "What's wrong? What have you done to him? Where is he? Where did you get that?"

"Just calm down..."

"I am perfectly calm. Now what is going on, Malfoy? What. Did. You. Do?" Each word was enunciated clearly in a strong, determined voice as she tied the belt of her robe.

"Nothing! I've done nothing." Draco glared at her, his expression suddenly arrogant. "He collapsed."

"Collapsed? Where is he now? In the hospital?"

"No...."

"What did Madam Pomfrey say?"

"Will you just shut up and listen." He pointed his wand at her as if the gesture would silence the girl's constant questions. "Just listen to me for a minute. He's in my room. He passed out and I can't get him to wake up."

"What's he doing in _your_ room?" Hermione asked indignantly. 

Draco glared at her, a 'what the hell do you think' expression on his face.

"Oh." She could feel herself blushing and was very grateful not to have to follow up on the comment, at least for the moment. Better to find out the truth from Harry rather than Malfoy.

"I thought about getting Pomfrey or Professor Snape, but I didn't think it would go down well if the Hero of Gryffindor was found unconscious in a Slytherin room. So I thought of you." He gave a small smile that wasn't quite condescending, but not friendly either. "Look, one minute he was standing there and the next he'd passed out on the floor. Now are you going to help me with him or not?

"Of course I am. But I'm warning you -- if you're lying to me..." Brown eyes fixed Draco's face in their hard stare.

"Sure, Granger. I've traipsed all the way up this bloody tower in the middle of the night, used my cunning to find out your stupid password and then made it all the way to _your_ room just to make you very, very angry." Draco closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them again, the grey seemed clouded. "Fine. I'll sort this out myself." He turned to leave.

"Wait."

He stopped, but didn't turn back. "What now?"

"Is that Harry's invisibility cloak?"

"Do you know anyone else in school who has one?" He turned back. "Look, Potter's been on his own for long enough. Either come with me or not."

"Okay." Hermione's hands automatically fixed her hair into bunches as she crossed to a wardrobe and found her shoes and cloak. "Was there anyone in the common room when you came through?" He shook his head. "Well, we'd better not risk you walking through there openly, so you'd better wear the cloak again." She was already at the door. "Come on." Draco strode across the room, disappearing as he covered himself with the cloak. There was a flutter of breeze as he came to her side. "Ready?"

"Yes."

"Good." Hermione opened the door, pausing for a moment with her hand on the handle. "What on earth is that smell?"

********************

Two house-elves trailed in Lucius Malfoy's wake, their little shuffling footsteps halting as they paused beside him, clearly waiting for further instructions. He didn't speak, but simply pointed at the desk where the creatures deposited the small boxes they were carrying before scurrying from the room. Lucius watched as they hurried to the door, which closed at the wave of his hand. A slight smile played on the pale face, the look familiar from the many times it had graced the younger features of his son. The smile faded as he paused to sniff the air before turning his attention to the portrait hanging above the fireplace. It was of a regal-looking woman in her mid-50s and the little brass nameplate below the painting was engraved with the name 'Eleanor Malfoy'. Lucius stared at her for a very long time.

Harry stepped closer to the man, wanting to see his face. If this was a dream Lucius couldn't hurt him, could he? The man's features were hard, and Harry wondered if he ever smiled in a friendly way or if he always looked like this. What was he like when Draco was at home? Harry had never considered the Slytherin's home life before and had only seen Draco and his father together on a few occasions. The last time had been just before Christmas when Lucius had turned up at the school. Father and son had been eating in the Great Hall, a surprise in itself and Draco had been looking at his father with ... with adoration, his face lit in a way that Harry had never seen before. The look had gone the moment Draco had caught sight of Harry. As far as Lucius was concerned, all Harry ever saw whenever he looked at the older man was one of Voldemort's minions -- someone who wanted Harry dead.

Harry couldn't help but give a little laugh at the absurdity of the situation. This man wanted him dead, yet Harry was standing in his study, having just had sex with the minion's son. There was a certain irony even if this wasn't Real Life.

Lucius finally finished his study of the portrait and turned. For a moment he seemed to stare directly at Harry, but there was no indication on his face that he was aware of Harry as he sat down at the desk.

Harry frowned. He had known from almost the moment Lucius had entered the room that the man couldn't see him, but to finally get confirmation of that fact.... If Harry was wrong about this, and Lucius could, in fact, see him, then Lucius was currently giving an Oscar-winning performance.

He finally stepped up to the desk, stopping right in front of Lucius, and waggled a hand in front of his face. Once again there was no reaction; Lucius' attention was fixed on a sheet of parchment he had taken from a drawer. Harry was tempted to speak, or to prod the man with his finger just to check, but decided not to push his luck. 

Why, he wondered, was he dreaming about Lucius Malfoy?

The answer was actually staring him in the face, but it took Harry a few more moments to focus on what was shimmering in the candlelight. In one of the boxes the house-elves had brought in, nestled in folds of soft white cloth, was a large faceted emerald. Harry gave a sharp, audible intake of breath as he moved closer to the object.

It was the gemstone that had been in Draco's room.

And -- Harry's hand automatically reached towards it, palm down, almost touching -- he could feel the energy coming from it. The gem was a Dream Stone.

That was why he'd been compelled to reach for it earlier.

That was why he was here in this room.

It wasn't a dream at all; at least, not his own. He was in the dream vision of the stone's history and it had brought him to this point in time. But this was completely different from the dream visions he'd experienced since that first one in Dumbledore's office three weeks ago. So far they'd always been linked with heightened emotions, death and fear. This one was ... it was calm ... unexceptional ... almost normal....

If, of course, being at Malfoy Manor could ever be considered 'normal'. Harry crouched, bringing himself down to the level of the stone. What did it want to tell him? Fingers reached towards it, allowing the connection already existing between it and Harry to heighten slightly. "What are you?" Harry whispered.

_I am the past... _A sensation tugged at the scar on his forehead, condensing into words in his mind. _Watch..._

Eyes narrowing, Harry straightened. Lucius was writing on the sheet of parchment, the nib scratching on the surface as he wrote. Harry tilted his head, staring in disbelief at the elegant words: 

_Saturday 7th February 1998_

_Draco.  
  
First, you will NEVER send me a message such as your last one without the appropriate security features. You may have used your own owl and it may have been coming back to the Manor, but it could have been intercepted by anyone. In the future you are only to send me messages of a general nature. Anything of greater importance is to be discussed only in person using Fire Talk. Is that understood? I will be arranging for you to receive the appropriate spells so that you can set up a private link to me here at the Manor.  
  
Second, you let him destroy it? Have I taught you nothing? What foolish magic did you let him perform to enable him to do that? There is a further Portkey with this note. Do not make the same mistake again. I know you are working with Potter in Potions. You are to keep your contact with him until you are in a position to use the Portkey. We do have loyal followers within Hogwarts but it is better that you do not know who they are. They are there for your safety as well, and one of their tasks is to protect you.  
  
Congratulations on your win over Ravenclaw. I knew you would be a great captain. Now carry this through and beat Gryffindor. We will then have something else to celebrate when you come home for your birthday. Your mother sends her love._

By the time Lucius had finished his letter, Harry had moved around the desk and was now beside the chair. The letter was tossed to one side as if Lucius wanted him to read it. Wanted him to read that Draco was in secret correspondence with his father ... that they were sending messages too private for normal post ... that there was another Portkey and that the person he had slept with a few hours before had been instructed to use it on him.

That Draco was _using_ him.

Harry thought he might black out and that his knees were going to give way. His grip on the desk edge tightened and he realised he was shaking. He had thought that since New Year he'd come to understand and trust the Slytherin in ways he'd never thought could be possible, but this.... How could he have been so wrong?

But ... but.... Hadn't Draco told him about the coin Portkey and even destroyed it? He could understand that Draco couldn't tell his father the truth of how it had been destroyed, but he'd had the second Portkey for a month and said nothing. Surely all the things Draco had told him couldn't be lies. He didn't want to believe that ... couldn't....

But this letter proved it, didn't it? Proved that Draco was lying? What other lies and falsehoods had Draco told him? Harry gasped for breath, trying to bring some clarity to his thoughts as he attempted to commit the letter to memory.

Followers at Hogwarts ... _loyal_ followers... Loyal to whom? Lucius Malfoy? Voldemort himself?

Then, on top of the realisation of Draco's duplicity and loyal followers, came Lucius' command to 'beat Gryffindor'. Green eyes darkened. "Sorry, Lucius," Harry mumbled. "Not this year. Not ever." 

The study door opened again and Harry dived behind the chair as if it would shield him. He ducked out of sight, peering round the edge as a tall figure walked from the shadows into the candlelight.

Harry gasped as he took in the dark curly hair and sapphire blue eyes. "Riddle?" he whispered. "My God, Tom Riddle."

It was the boy Harry had seen in the Chamber of Secrets, except Riddle was older now, perhaps by a dozen years. But it was still Riddle -- still the person who would one day be Voldemort. Would one day kill his parents and mark him. Harry fell to his knees behind the chair, forehead pressed against the cool leather of the backrest. It couldn't be. It just couldn't. A flicker of pain, like a distant memory, washed through his mind and touched his scar. It wasn't like the other times he had been near Voldemort, when the pain could become excruciating. It was as though he was remembering a headache suffered years ago, the distance in time taking away the sting of pain, but leaving the memory.

Then Riddle spoke with that same honeyed voice he had spoken to Harry with all those years ago, a little deeper now, but no less seductive. "Lucius."

The older man came to his feet and Harry peered around the chair. Lucius towered over the newcomer, but it was Riddle whose very essence seemed to fill the room. The blue eyes sparkled with a slight inner glow, which might have been red, but the face was not that of a killer -- not yet that of someone who was the most feared wizard in generations.

"Master." Lucius' voice sounded suitably deferential.

"Is the stone ready?" Riddle reached out and picked up the emerald.

"Yes, Master. All it needs is the personal item and then it will be completed."

"Good, because I have it here." Riddle reached into the pocket of his robes and drew out a Muggle pencil.

Harry had slowly come to his feet as he stared at the innocuous looking item. If he'd been a Muggle, living in that world, a simple pencil wouldn't have been particularly important. But here, in the Wizarding world, they were few and far between. Harry recognised it immediately -- the pencil had his name on it, embossed in gold; it had been part of his birthday present from Hermione. It was dark red and the last time he'd seen it was at Hagrid's cottage on New Years Eve.

As he desperately tried to work out how the pencil had found its way here, to Malfoy Manor, Harry heard a voice. It came from a great distance and was calling his name. He felt a sudden emptiness in his stomach, which momentarily tugged at him, and his world went black. 

********************

Hermione wasn't sure what shocked her more; hearing Malfoy say that Harry was unconscious in the Slytherin's room, or actually_ seeing_ Harry tucked up in that bed.

She stood for a moment at the door, just staring at the tousled black head resting on the white pillows. It was only when Malfoy almost shut the door in her invisible face that she stepped into the room. Pulling off the invisibility cloak as she walked, Hermione approached the narrow bed and studied Harry for a moment. He was curled on his side, one hand flat on the pillow beside him face. "Has he moved since you left?"

"No." Draco moved to the opposite side of the bed.

"Well, at least you remembered to leave him on his side." She laid a hand on Harry's forehead, unsure if she was pleased that he didn't feel either cold or feverish. But there was a flush in his cheeks as though someone had put spots of blusher on his face.

"Harry." Her voice was urgent as she pulled back the sheet. "Come on, love, wake up." She shook his shoulder; the movement making him drop onto his back, one arm slung haphazardly across his body. The sight that greeted her made her gasp. From her reaction, Harry might just as well have been completely naked. Of course, she'd seen him dressed just in shorts before, even just in a towel, but this was different ... this was Harry in Malfoy's bed and she had _no_ difficulty imagining what must have happened there earlier.

There was a smell in the air that she thought was sandalwood, but there was something else trapped in the enclosed room. Hermione noticed a small window high up in the wall, but doubted it ever opened. She could see a sheen on Harry's skin and hair that she realised was some sort of oil. It was on the sheets and, she now realised, on Malfoy as well.

And ... she wrinkled her nose ... now her hands, too.

If it had been any other two males ... or even under different circumstances ... Hermione might have found the thought of what must have happened ... well ... interesting. But this was Harry, and Harry didn't _do_ things like this. It was like trying to imagine her own parents...

Harry and Malfoy having sex was a disturbing image -- sort of like ... like Ron with house-elves.

But Harry _did_ look like he somehow 'belonged' in this particular bed. She shook her head, trying to lose the peculiar images spilling onto her thoughts -- like how Harry had come by the large lovebite on the top of his breastbone, and a second where neck joined shoulder.

She finally met Malfoy's troubled gaze -- it was an expression she'd never ever seen before. "What did you do to him?" The anger in her voice made Draco's eyes open wide.

"Nothing."

"Liar! Harry wouldn't be here of his own volition. He wouldn't ... wouldn't..." Her hand gesticulated wildly as though that was enough to explain everything.

"He wouldn't what?"

"Do that ... come here..."

Draco's lip curled slightly at her words. "Well, he did come ... right there, in fact."

"That is not what I meant and you know it." Hermione pulled the sheet back a little, hiding the results of the boys' nocturnal activities.

"Look, Granger, I don't know what sanctified vision you have of Saint Potter, but I did not ask him to come down here, nor did I trick him into it. He came down here all by himself."

"He wouldn't..."

Draco's hand pushed through his hair as he became more and more agitated. He desperately wanted to hold on to Harry ... comfort him ... and he was beginning to hate himself for feeling like that. She was touching Harry's hair, smoothing it back from his face and Draco realised with a pain-stabbing reality that he was actually jealous. The sensation made him angry. Angry with Harry for making him feel that way and at Granger for the assumptions she was making.

"Well he did. Potter came down here of his own free will. I did not ask him to. He was the one who ... who..." Draco voice faltered as he realised the truth. Harry had all but seduced him -- Harry initiated the kiss. Harry had gone down on him. Harry had asked him for sex. He blinked, a little shocked at the realisation. Hadn't Draco been in charge of things? Wasn't sweet, innocent virgin Harry just doing what he was told?

When Draco finally spoke again he knew there was an edge to his voice. "Just wake him up."

********************

Waking up had never been more difficult. Harry was aware that he was, indeed, waking up, but he was having a particularly difficult time dragging himself back to consciousness.

It was, he thought, like struggling through a box full of those little polystyrene bits used to pack things safely. He remembered one of Dudley's birthdays when his cousin had received something in a large cardboard box. Harry had long forgotten what the present had been, but Piers Polkiss and another of Dudley's friends tipping Harry into the box was indelibly inscribed on his memory.

They had attempted to seal Harry in and for a moment he thought they might succeed and that he would suffocate. The more he had struggled the deeper he sank into those little white bits. Somehow, he'd managed to punch a hole in the side of the box, scattering the bits all over Aunt Petunia's conservatory. The destroyed box and messed-up room had earned Harry a whole week locked in his cupboard ... but the look of horror on everyone's faces had been worth it. 

But now, as he tried to claw his way back through the chaos of his dreaming state, he was beginning to think he might actually never wake up again ... and perhaps that wouldn't be such a bad thing considering what he'd seen and done. It didn't seem to matter what direction he chose, it was still blocked by millions of little white polystyrene bits.

Then he thought he saw something ahead.

It was difficult to see what it was at first because both the polystyrene and the creature were white. It looked like a rat ... a very big rat, and Harry's first thought was, "Now I'm dreaming of Piers ... I'll probably be squished by Dudley the Whale next."

But the creature seemed to know how to burrow out of the morass of his dream, and Harry followed.

As he drifted toward consciousness, he realised two things. The first was that he could hear voices arguing. And second, that the creature leading him back to reality was most definitely not a rat -- it was much too big to be a rat. The voices were strangely familiar, but it took him a moment to put names to them. One was a girl and he knew without question that it was Hermione. She was berating someone in her best Head Girl voice. He wanted to open his eyes to look, but his eyelids felt too heavy to even consider that as an option. Instead he just listened.

_How the hell do you expect me to help if you won't tell me what happened?_

Yes, definitely Hermione. For some reason, Harry had expected the responding voice to be Ron's, but while it was a boy, he knew instantly it wasn't his friend.

_If I knew more, don't you think I'd tell you?_ A pause. _And stop mauling him ... that doesn't help._

_The day you are honest about everything will be the day the fires stop burning in hell and the angels sing sweet arias in your name, Draco Malfoy! And I am _not _'mauling' anyone._ Another pause. _Although you clearly have._ Harry felt a hand on his head, tilting it to one side _Look at the mess you've left him in._ The hand pushed through his hair. _I'll have to clear all these marks up. He can't go to breakfast looking like this._

The hand jerked suddenly away as if it had been pulled back.

_Isn't that up to him? _A hand touched his shoulder -- a different touch ... firmer, more masculine. Almost possessive. Draco. 

_Of course it is, but I take it you aren't planning on walking into the Great Hall hand-in-hand._

_No._ The hand's grip relaxed and then slowly pulled away. 

Harry just knew Hermione had folded her arms. _How long do you think it would take for people to wheedle out of him what happened if he goes in looking like that? Not, of course, that anyone would think you were responsible._

Someone scoffed.

_Harry is a lovely boy, but he has the devil's own job lying. Unlike someone I could mention._

_I do not lie._

_Of course not. I am not going to let him have to explain anything, least of all to half the school. And if we can't get him to wake up in the next ten minutes, I'm going to get Snape or someone who can help._

"I'm awake!" Harry croaked, the sudden vision of the Potion's Master finding him here ... wherever 'here' was ... was a horror beyond belief. His eyelids suddenly opened, the green eyes bright in his pale face.

The silence in the room as his words cut through the arguing voices was almost palpable and Harry thought the very air around him might suddenly explode.

"Harry?" Both voices spoke at once. Hermione's voice, questioning and worried, Draco's laced with concern and fear.

"Thank God..."

"Can you talk...?"

"What happened...?"

"I need to get you somewhere safe..."

"Just what is that supposed to mean?"

"That the dungeons are hardly the safest place at the best of times, especially for Harry."

A snort of derision. "And you call me a small-minded bigot."

"Malfoy..."

"Get over your preconceived notions of who the bad guys are, Granger, and look a bit closer to home if you want to find out who really is a danger to Harry."

"And just what is that supposed to mean?"

"If I have to spell it out to you, then you aren't as clever as you'd like people to think."

"Oh, shut up, Ferret ... not everything is about you."

With Hermione's words, it suddenly became clear to Harry. Of course ... it hadn't been a rat in his dream ... the white animal had been a ferret! It had been Draco the Ferret leading him back to reality.

"Ohhhh ... " Draco's voice was snide and oily, "the Head Girl is reduced to name calling. How immature... Am I supposed to revert to calling you 'Mudblood' now?"

"Oh, piss off ... you self righteous, sanctimonious little prick..."

"That's enough!" Harry roared. At least he had planned it to be a roar, but his throat felt as dry as hell and it came out as a little croak. What did seem to silence the two was Harry suddenly sitting up, the sheet falling to his waist. Hermione and Draco were leaning across the bed, their faces inches from each other; they turned to look at him and he placed a hand on each person, intent on pushing them apart. At first neither moved, so he took a breath and pushed harder. "Just pack it in!"

The move, at least, had the desired effect of parting the two antagonists, but the movement sent a spiral of light-headedness rushing through Harry's body. It seemed to tighten the further up his torso it moved, until by the time it reached his head, Harry was left feeling faint with dizziness.

He dropped back to the bed in what he was sure was a swoon. Whatever it was, both Hermione and Draco seemed to take it as a sign for direct action. Hermione leapt on the bed beside him, reaching out to gather him in her arms. Harry fell into the familiar comfort with a groan and made no attempt to stop her. His glasses were missing, but he could make out Draco turning to the bedside table where he rummaged in a drawer. It was then Harry saw it ... a large green emerald.

The gem rested serenely on the tabletop, as though totally oblivious to its role in the unfolding drama. Harry stared at it as reality crashed back in again and he remembered.

Everything.

Coming to Draco's room. The sex. Touching the stone. The vision. 

Oh God! The vision!

Harry's eyes flew to look at the Slytherin as what he'd seen and heard in Lucius' study smashed into him with the force of a speeding train. If it was true, then....

It didn't bear thinking about. Lies ... it meant everything that had happened was a lie. Harry had asked Draco if he was serious or whether this was all a game and now it looked like his own doubts about the Slytherin might just turn out to be true. It wasn't a game Draco was playing with him, but a matter of life and death.

He was still watching Draco when the blond tried to pull him from Hermione's arms. It was only then that Harry realised _he_ was the one holding onto her. He saw a look on Draco's face that he couldn't quite fathom, a cross between fear and a sickening realisation.

Draco finally cupped Harry's face with his hand, the pressure and touch making the Gryffindor's eyelids flutter closed with the memory. Something cold touched his lips. "Harry, come on, drink this."

Lips clamping shut, Harry looked up at the grey gaze. It was imploring ... confused.

"What are you doing?" Hermione knocked the little glass phial away and the same confused gaze turned on her.

"It's a fortifying potion. I use it all the time."

"I don't think it's a good idea for Harry to drink anything you give him."

Harry watched as Draco's expression changed to that of the hated Slytherin he'd known for years. The sneer was almost one of distain. "Hermione..." the dark-haired boy's voice was pleading.

"What, Granger, you think I'm going to kill him and that I went to all the bother of getting you here as a witness? Fine." He raised the phial to his own mouth and drank down the potion. "Drag him up all those stairs for all I care." Draco turned away and strode across the room where he stood with his back to them.

Both of them watched the blond's back for some time. Harry could see the tenseness across the shoulders through the thin folds of Draco's dressing gown. He wondered what Draco's expression was like and he ached to go to him. Yet there was a new knot of fear in his stomach, which came with his realisation of Draco's past, and how that might affect the present and future. He thought people could change, but Voldemort's fingers had a long reach ... maybe much longer than Harry had ever realised before.

He pulled himself from Hermione's grip and finally managed to sit up on his own. "I think I'm okay now."

"Fine. Shut the door on the way out." Draco glanced over his shoulder. "And take off my bloody shirt before you leave."

********************

As the door closed, Draco flicked a hand towards it, locking it with a spell. He hadn't moved from the corner where he had retreated after leaving Harry's side and the longer he remained there, the harder it was becoming to actually shift from that place.

He stared around the room ... at the mess left by the events of the previous evening. Bits of clothing, messy sheets ... the smell of sandalwood and of Harry in the air. What the hell had happened and how had it all fallen to pieces so very quickly?

Shoulders slumping, Draco tried to take a step forward. Despite the fortification potion, his whole body felt incredibly tired, as though he was holding himself erect by sheer force of will. Yet his brain was crystal clear, as awake as it had ever been and it was with this sharp focus he realised the fact that for all they had both enjoyed what had happened in the now very rumpled bed, he had lost Harry.

What it didn't tell him was why.

His legs finally gave way, and Draco dropped to the floor. He sat on the cold stone and stared, unseeing, ahead as he ran over and over the events. Each time they ended with Harry reaching out for the emerald Portkey and Draco shouting _No! DON'T touch that!_ and the dark-haired boy unconscious on the floor.

The idea that his father had lied to him surfaced again. Draco knew how his father felt about Harry, but he wasn't privy to all of his plans. What if Lucius had used other spells on the stone ... something deadly ... and that was why Harry had passed out? Draco let out a long angry breath, unsure whom his anger was directed at. His father for giving him the stone, Harry for poking around where he shouldn't have, or himself for not hiding the emerald more carefully. 

His father! Would Lucius know that Harry had touched the stone? It wouldn't surprise him to find that there were tracing charms locked on the emerald and that his father would know exactly what was going on. But how Lucius would react to being told, 'Potter touched it and nothing happened'?

If nothing else, if he talked to his father, he might be able to find out if the device was even more deadly than he had originally thought.

Maybe he should confess to Harry. Didn't Harry deserve at least that much from him?

But hadn't Granger made it quite clear what she thought about him and Harry? And hadn't Harry, after all the trust they'd shared, shied away from him when all Draco had wanted to do was help? Both had shown their true colours and treated him as though he was beneath contempt ... not worthy of their company.

Both? Draco pushed a hand into his hair. Harry had just looked scared and confused. And Granger? Hadn't she just been protecting her friend? He had gone to her for help after all.

He hated feeling like this. Hated being confused. Hated _not _being in control. Hated feeling so bereft by Harry's absence. 

Well, he wasn't going to feel it anymore. He'd wasted too much of his valuable time on Potter already, and if he preferred his own friends then so be it. Draco looked up at the untidy bed again, his mouth set in a hard line. His hand reached out and, as he whispered a spell, the sheets whipped from the bed, hanging like ghostly figures in the centre of the room. The word _"Incendio"_ was spat from between clenched teeth, and the sheets burst into flame. They flared brightly for a moment before littering the floor with little piles of ash. Another wave of his hand, and Draco banished those as well.

That was how easy it was to get rid of Harry Potter. Burn his very touch and taste and smell from the room.

Draco came to his feet, dusting off his hands as though wiping away the last traces of the Boy Who Lived.

"I don't need you," he whispered to the spectre that still lurked in the room. "I never have."

********************

**_Saturday 7th March 1998 ... 6am ... Gryffindor Tower_**

"I really should go to bed," Harry muttered as he stifled a yawn. His eyes were fixed on the floor because he couldn't bring himself to meet Hermione's gaze. Waking in Draco's bed to find her standing over him was difficult enough, but he knew the longer he remained here, the more chance there would be for the as-yet silent Head Girl to begin the barrage of questions she was clearly itching to bombard him with.

"I think we need to talk, Harry." Hermione appeared in front of him and Harry finally had to look at her. "You've been unconscious for an hour and we need to know why."

Harry's heart sank, but at least she hadn't said anything about the obvious liaison between himself and Draco. He watched as the girl crossed the room and began rummaging in her wardrobe. "We could do this later." He was aware of the underlying whine in his voice that he didn't like ... it was bad enough that he looked pitiful without sounding like that as well.

"Yes, like all your other 'laters'. If I let you go now, you'll weasel your way out of it until the end of time. We are going to talk, Harry. But first why don't you get cleaned up." She tossed a towel at him. "You smell like a Slytherin bordello."

Clutching the towel to his chest and face aflame, Harry disappeared into a side-door leading to the bathroom.

The Head Girl's room, like so many in Gryffindor Tower, was round. It had been divided into two half circles, one part with a bedroom and bathroom, the other a little sitting room. It wasn't big, but to Hermione, the privacy and freedom it afforded made up for the extra work and responsibility that had come with the role.

And Hermione, being Hermione, took being Head Girl very seriously. She regarded it a great honour that she, a Muggle-born, had been selected. In fact she'd considered being picked as a prefect in her fifth year as an honour and prided herself on making sure no one ... not even the Slytherins ... could accuse her of being biased.

Of course, the Slytherins still did, but Hermione knew it was sour grapes because she'd been picked for Head Girl rather than Pansy Parkinson, the Slytherin seventh year prefect. In fact, Hermione was sure they would much rather had Hufflepuff Hannah Abbott or even Ravenclaw Padma Patil instead of any Gryffindor in the post.

She was positive Draco Malfoy's loathing for her had expanded exponentially when it had been announced who would be Head Boy and Girl for their seventh year. His spitefulness towards her was almost as legendary as his battles with Harry. Granted, the name-calling and other taunts had lessened to the point he'd hardly given her the time of day during most of their sixth year, but when he had deigned to cast his grey gaze in her direction, it had always been with that same condescending stare ... the one that said without words she wasn't worthy of his attention.

It had changed again since September. Of course the fact that Gryffindor and Slytherin shared more classes now meant they had to work with each other. But there was something else as well which she couldn't quite fathom. Sometimes Malfoy seemed so much more mature than his seventeen years, especially when she looked at some of the other boys in her year.

Occasionally she would wonder about his shift in attitude towards her, trying to pinpoint the exact moment when it had happened, but worrying about him seemed to be the least of her problems ... at least until now. She did know a lot of people had returned to school different people the summer after Cedric Diggory's death. Some were just plain scared. A few just shrugged philosophically, saying they'd worry about Voldemort when they had to. Others, including Malfoy, had taken great delight in claiming Harry was responsible for Cedric's death. There had even been a little whispering campaign that Harry had actually killed the Hufflepuff in his desperate desire to win the Triwizard Tournament.

But back in those dark days when Harry seemed to be angry all the time and had turned in on himself, hardly speaking to anyone and refusing to defend himself against the allegations, she had seen a look in the Slytherin's eyes as he taunted Harry. At first she hadn't understood it, but then she and Malfoy had fought a particularly vindictive quarrel and Harry had retreated even further into his shell. She'd realised then that Malfoy was actually as frightened as the rest of them. He might crow about the Dark Lord's return, but somewhere deep down he was scared stiff of the idea. Clearly it hadn't only been Harry who was affected by Cedric's death.

Now a little older and wiser, Hermione wondered what Malfoy's home life must have been like that summer. Had his underlying fear been because his father had made him meet Voldemort? She pursed her lips. Maybe he'd been initiated as a Death Eater already ... maybe that was what had happened and why he was different when he'd come back to school.

But, surely Dumbledore would know if that had been the case and the Headmaster wouldn't have let a known Death Eater into the school no matter what his age. Would he? She began twisting a stand of hair round and round a finger. Dumbledore might, if he thought he could still save the person ... retrieve him from a path that would ultimately only lead to darker and darker places. Maybe Malfoy had already turned his back on Voldemort, and Dumbledore was sheltering him here at the school. It would explain his change in attitude at the beginning of the year and also why he'd not gone home at Christmas.

With a huff of annoyance, she quickly threw the whole 'redeemed Death Eater' idea away. Harry had seen Lucius and his son talking in the Great Hall before the holiday and according to Dennis, who had witnessed the entire father/son incident, the two had gotten on like the proverbial house on fire.

Picking up a cushion, she pounded it with her fists a couple of times before flinging it at the other armchair in annoyance. This whole train of thought was pointless. Why Malfoy had changed and whether or not he had been Marked were not supposed to be her priority at the moment. Her problem right now centred on what the Slytherin was doing with Harry. What had possessed Harry ... her sweet, innocent Harry ... to have a dalliance with Malfoy in the first place? Why, when virtually any girl in the school would die to date Harry had he picked Malfoy? The thought quickly rephrased itself ... if Harry was gay, she knew of at least three other boys whom she considered a much better catch than the Slytherin.

Except ... she sucked on the strand of hair ... as much as she hated to admit it, Malfoy _was_ a catch in his own right and if it wasn't for all his pure-blood proselytising, the possible Dark Mark, the Slytherin connection and the self righteous, sanctimonious prickishness, she might very well have fancied him herself.

Hermione smiled darkly at the wonderful retort she'd flung at him. That one had been stored up for at least three years. Just waiting for the right opportunity. It was a pity there had been no one around but the little prick to hear it, but the expression on that sanctimonious face had been worth it. Maybe there would be other times to use it -- she'd have to think up variations on the theme. 

She heard the water turn off in the bathroom and paused in her deliberations for a moment.

Possession.

Maybe that was it ... could Malfoy have possessed Harry in some way? She'd always assumed the blond had access to illegal spells and potions, so maybe Malfoy had given Harry something that had made him collapse and that was why he'd been so cagey about explaining what had happened.

Getting to her feet, she crossed to a bookcase overflowing with seven years of school books, neatly bound parchments covered with her meticulous writing and her small collection of Muggle literature -- 'light reading' as Ron put it. Maybe there was a spell she could use on Harry to see if she could detect anything.

********************

Harry had never really gotten used to wizard mirrors. Even after more than six years, he still found it just a little disturbing to hear his own reflection talking back to him. It didn't help that his reflection always seemed intent on waging a personal war with him over the way he looked.

He stared into the mirror in Hermione's bathroom and waited for the normal tirade of comments, but for once his reflection was silent. The oval mirror, with its pretty frame, was a Muggle one, and for once his reflection was just that ... his likeness, only moving when he did and, thankfully, silent.

Until Harry finally spoke, sounding like that magical reflection. "You look awful."

For once Harry knew the words were true. He looked extraordinarily pale, despite the heat from the water and his scar stood out rose red against his forehead like a fresh wound. Leaning towards the glass, he squinted as he rubbed fingertips over the dark smudges under his eyes and the marks on his neck and throat -- everything looked bruised ... as though he'd been in a fight. Except for the lovebite at his elbow, which looked ominously like the Dark Mark he'd seen on a Death Eater in his sixth year. He shivered slightly and for the first time became aware of scratches and other blotches on his skin. 

Even worse, if he looked carefully he could see the marks Draco had made at the top of his right thigh ... three little marks in a row. He'd asked Draco to mark him ... _I don't want it removed. I want it to stay there and for you to know it's there_ ... the Slytherin's own dark mark.

He quickly picked up a towel, winding it around his waist in an effort to banish the marks from his sight if not from his memory. He didn't want to look at any of them or to think of the pleasure receiving them had brought him. It was all spoilt ... ruined in the instant he'd reached for the stone and been thrown into the vision at Malfoy Manor. Even now when he'd had time to think about what had happened, he still didn't want to believe Draco had lied to him ... used him ... was a danger not only to him but to everyone who was trying to defeat Voldemort.

But everything about him was touched and tainted by the night. Even his hair.

The black wet tendrils hung around his face. It had taken four washes to get all the oil out, and Harry was sure he could still smell the sandalwood. Worse than the smell was the ghost-like sensation of Draco's fingers on his skin. It was almost as if those long fingers were still in his hair, tugging ever so gently as they had pulled Harry towards him. He could sense the spectre of Draco's lips on his own mouth and the way their bodies seemed to fit together like pieces of a puzzle.

And he hated it now as much as he had loved it hours before.

With a growing sense of anger, coupled with hurt and frustration at his own stupidity, Harry reached for a pair of nail scissors that Hermione had left beside the washbasin. He picked them up and sliced into his hair, cutting off a damp curl. It dropped into the sink, a black ragged line against the white porcelain. He stared at it for a moment before reaching for another strand as he tried to cut out the sensation of Draco along with his hair.

********************

Draco Malfoy didn't have the luxury of a private bathroom, but no one else was up at this hour on a Saturday and he spent a long time scrubbing away the final remnants of the night. Skin glowing pink from the meticulousness of his actions, he finally returned to his room to find the bed had been made. Even his spells didn't keep the house-elves out, he ruefully considered. Deliberately not returning to the bed, Draco instead picked up his leather-bound copy of the Complete Works of Shakespeare and crossed to his chair before the fire.

_See how easy it is?_ his mind ventured. _See how you can just return to your normal life?_

Draco flicked open the tome at a bookmarked page. He was halfway through The Tempest and had put off continuing for much too long. However, instead of the words, his eyes were drawn to the scrap of paper he'd used to mark his place.

It was the remains of a drawing Harry had made of him the previous September during their train journey from Kings Cross to Hogsmeade, and the circumstances surrounding it were as clear in his mind as the day they happened ... perhaps even clearer because of the fortifying potion.

********************

**_Hogwarts Express ... Monday 1st September 1997 ... Late afternoon_**

The seat bounced as the large boy dropped onto the upholstered cushion. The violent movement sent the pile of sweets he'd just flung onto the surface into the air. Scooping them back towards him, Vincent Crabbe licked his lips and reached for a Chocolate Frog packet. "What're you reading, Drake?"

It took a few seconds for the seat to stop undulating, by which time Draco Malfoy had secreted the leather-bound edition of the Complete Works of Shakespeare somewhere chocolate-covered fingers would not be able to find it. He cast hard grey eyes on his companion. "If you call me that again, I'm going to turn you into a bag of Fizzing Whizzbees and leave you somewhere Greg will find you." 

Vincent merely shrugged, knowing full well that Draco's bark was far worse than his bite. "Frog?" He held out an open packet, the Wizard card already joining the collection in his pocket.

"No thanks." Draco pushed the sweets away from him, forming a pile between them. "Where did you get all this from?"

"First years," the large boy grinned. "Easy targets."

Draco shrugged, remembering that a year ago he, too, had terrorised youngsters into handing over sweets. It seemed childish now, especially after his summer. "I'm going for a walk."

"Want me to come with you?"

"No."

"Oh. Word is that Weasley isn't on the train."

"Really?"

"Really. The rumour is he was hurt in a flying accident. We can go and pay our annual visit on Potter and he'll be all alone."

"Granger?"

"Doing her Head Girl act."

Draco looked thoughtfully out of the window for a moment. When he turned back, his mouth was twisted in a sly smirk. "No, not just yet. We'll get him later."

The corridors of the Hogwarts Express were crowded with children. Five hours into the long journey from Kings Cross to Hogsmeade, the younger children were desperate for something to keep them occupied. If all went according to plan most of them would be so bored that they would fall asleep soon.

Draco strolled slowly down the train, pausing occasionally to chat with people. Over the six years he'd been at Hogwarts, he'd noticed a change in his fellow Slytherins -- they had ceased to be quite so separatist and aloof. The change started during his fifth year after Potter's story that the Dark Lord had somehow returned. People had become scared and even children from Slytherin families had looked for comfort in their fellow students no matter what house. Well, maybe not with the Gryffindors, but he knew Pansy Parkinson was very friendly with some of the Ravenclaw girls and for the first time she was travelling in their compartment.

He paused at the open door, just in time to hear the girl mention 'Neville Longbottom' and 'sexy' in the same sentence. Pansy smiled at him and patted the seat beside her, but Draco remained by the door. It had come as another shock to him the previous year to realise that aside from the Gryffindors most people in the school didn't give a damn about Slytherins. They might cheer for the other team during Quidditch matches, but that was as far as their animosity seemed to go. He wondered if it had always been like that or whether it was another knock-on effect of the 'Voldemort Has Returned' saga. There was no doubt in his mind that people were much less willing to be seen as taking sides in what could be a nasty, possibly violent, confrontation. In fact, he remembered a discussion with Wayne Hopkins (a Hufflepuff with what some described as 'Slytherin tendencies') in which the boy had made it quite clear that Mr and Mrs Hopkins were patiently waiting to see just how powerful the New Dark Lord was before making any rash decisions in the power stakes market.

It would help, Wayne had also said, if someone could actually prove that Potter had been telling the truth and that Voldemort had returned. There might have been escalating Death Eater activity over the past two years, but no one had actually _seen_ the Dark Lord in that time.

There were several rumours as to Voldemort 's current location. 

One of the strangest was that he was currently at a Mediterranean beach resort where he had gone after finding that his newly regenerated body didn't like the damp British winters. A cartoon had appeared in the more left wing newspaper _Independent Wizard _showing the Dark Lord, complete with swimming trunks, sunning himself on a lounger at St Tropez. Someone had taken great offence and threatened the cartoonist, renowned Gryffindor Don Price, who had suddenly given up on cartoons and was rumoured to be working on the checkout at a branch of Crouches' Country Store (You Can't Buy Cheaper).

The idea that Potter had lied still surfaced occasionally. Considering Draco had been the major instigator for spreading that version of events in the early months of their fifth year, it wasn't surprising that Potter had suffered from whispered accusations that he'd not only lied but also actually killed Cedric Diggory. Back then Draco had actually believed what he was saying. After all, that was what his father had told him.

How things had changed.

The latest story was that Voldemort was currently in Cornwall, building up his following again. Of course no one was actually willing to state publicly that this was true, mainly because the Ministry people sent to verify it never returned. The Minister of Magic hadn't seemed particularly concerned about the non-return of his operatives, explaining that his officers had clearly loved Cornwall so much they simply hadn't wanted to come back. He had even pointed out that a couple of them had sent him postcards saying how much they were enjoying their new lives.

_Having a great time, wish you were here..._

But the truth? Draco had heard his father talk about what was really happening. How the darkness was a visible wall shutting the southwest peninsula off from the rest of the country. How that line moved steadily forward as Voldemort's forces pressed onward, taking over towns and villages either by stealth and clever words or by violence. Rumour had it that the Muggle authorities had turned a blind eye to what was happening, happy to sign up to a non-aggression pact with the Dark Lord in order to save themselves from the powerful wizard. If that were true, they would be disappointed. Voldemort cared nothing for Muggles and would stamp them out when the time came, treaty or no treaty.

Draco shivered inwardly as an icy fist twisted in his gut. The same fist which had twisted just over two weeks ago when his father had found him in the garden at Malfoy Manor and said, "Draco, there is someone I'd like you to meet."

He had been taken into his father's study and made to kneel. It had been painful; his knee still hurt from his accident several weeks before, but Lucius had taught him well ... taught him how to remain still. Not daring to look up, he had watched the pair of feet cross the room, soundless on the rug. He'd kept his eyes on those feet until a long bony finger had touched under his chin, making him look up and meet the red eyes boring into him. Looking at him as though he was an object rather than a human being. Then, almost worse than the eyes, there had been the voice; hissing, cold, and calculating. "Yes, Lucius, a fine specimen. A fine specimen indeed."

Draco rubbed absently at the spot on his chin where the finger had pressed as though trying to remove an itch. Sometimes he thought he could still feel the touch. When he woke in the middle of the night, it would almost feel like he could sense the ridges of the Dark Lord's fingerprint on his skin. More than once he had gone in search of a mirror to check that there really was nothing there. Once he thought the area seemed to feel rough, like touching old scar tissue, but now it felt smooth.

Soft. Normal.

Swallowing, Draco took a deep breath that was almost a sigh as he tried to banish both the image of Voldemort's serpent-like body and the horror that he might be the only one on this entire train to have met the Dark Lord face-to-face.

Except, of course, Harry Potter.

He found his best smile and favoured Pansy with it. "Pansy, dear, I hope you haven't completely lost your sense of taste. Did I actually hear you calling Longbottom sexy?"

--~--

He had almost come to the end of the train before finding what he was looking for. Harry Potter.

The Gryffindor was alone in a compartment, unusual in itself. Normally Potter would have been surrounded by his friends who would make sure lesser mortals didn't breathe the same rarefied air as The Boy Who Lived. Draco stood for a moment just out of Harry's line-of-sight, studying the dark-haired boy. Harry was reading; his legs stretched out along one of the seats, feet crossed at the ankles. He had taken his shoes off and his toes flexed back and forth as he read.

Grey eyes flicked over the reclining boy as Harry raised a hand to his mouth and chewed at a nail, clearly engrossed in the paperback novel. Unlike Draco, he hadn't changed into his uniform yet and still wore jeans and a baggy grey sweatshirt. The left sleeve had been pushed up to his elbow, showing off a summer tan that had darkened his skin several shades. Harry's head was tilted to one side resting against the back of the seat, exposing the curve of his neck and shoulder where the sweatshirt had been dragged to one side. The same tan coloured his throat, looking even darker against the grey as it disappeared beneath the neckline of the shirt.

It seemed a shame to disturb him, Draco considered, but wasn't that one of his roles in life -- to make things difficult for Potter? Hadn't that been his raison d'être for the last six years?

He sauntered to the compartment and leaned nonchalantly on the doorjamb. "Afternoon, Potter."

Harry's eyes flicked up from his book, his head remaining tilted at an interesting angle. Curls of black hair dusted over the skin, catching the glow of late afternoon sunshine. His eyes widened slightly as he caught sight of Draco and a slight flush coloured his cheeks, but otherwise he did not respond. Instead he held Draco's stare as he turned a page, and then lowered his gaze back to the book.

Draco's eyes narrowed; he wasn't used to being ignored, especially not by Potter or his little gang. "All alone?" No response. "So where are your adoring fans?" Nothing, except Harry uncrossed his ankles and crossed them again. "Is the Mudblood off flaunting her little Head Girl badge?" Green eyes glanced up again, the only reaction to the insult being a slight stiffening of Harry's jaw as he returned his attention to the book. He turned another page, clearly not having read the previous one.

A slight frown creased Draco's brow at Harry's refusal to rise to his taunts. This was not, he wanted to say, how the game was played. He insulted, Potter responded. Or rather he insulted and one of Potter's cohorts responded while Potter looked on. Draco's mouth tightened. Well, two could play at the 'silent treatment'. He stepped into the compartment and sat down opposite Harry, stretching his legs out across the small gap between the seats. From his new position he could see Harry's profile. The Gryffindor had changed in the eight weeks since they had last seen each other. His face had thinned a little, strengthening the jaw line, but there were dark smudges under his eyes as though sleep had eluded him for some time. Harry swallowed, his Adam's apple visible as it moved the neckline of his sweatshirt.

Draco waited in silence, biding his time. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes were alert; he was determined to break through Harry's wall of indifference. He watched as yet another page was turned. "Good book?" The enquiry was deliberately polite. Draco watched carefully, noting with sharp interest how Harry's fingers tightened and the book was pulled closer. One eyebrow rose speculatively and his gaze sharpened. Was Potter embarrassed about what he was reading? 

He suddenly moved forward and grabbed at the book. The two struggled for a moment, with the Slytherin eventually winning, but only because in the fight Draco had knocked a large manila folder from the seat, which Harry had obviously considered more important than the book. The Gryffindor grabbed for it, tumbling into the gap between the two seats. When he finally looked up, Draco had both folder and book. He quickly moved out of Harry's reach and sat back down, placing the folder as far from the grasping hands as possible. 

The colour in Harry's cheeks reddened as Draco stared at the book cover. It showed a very voluptuous woman with flowing black hair and a very low-cut blouse. The Slytherin's eyebrow rose in obvious amusement as he stared at Harry. "The Flesh Endures by Cleo Cordell." Grey eyes glinted. "Why, Harry, I never expected to find you reading smutty Muggle literature."

Harry tried to snatch the book back, but all the action did was leave him on his knees in front of the Slytherin. For a moment his hand rested on Draco's knee -- he quickly pulled it away.

If Draco noticed, he didn't react to the touch; instead he flicked the book over to read aloud the blurb on the back. _"Karolan, Lord Rakka, with his knowledge of alchemy, achieves a dark immortality and yearns to create a partner as unique as himself. Fate brings Garnetta into his path, and a bond of desire develops between them, until she discovers the truth about Karolan, and herself, and flees." _He looked down at Harry, the smirk on his face growing, and gave a little snort. "So, let me guess, are you Karolan ... the dark lord? And does that make Granger Garnetta?"

"It's not mine."

Draco's eyes flared briefly in triumph at finally having found a chink in Harry's armour. His voice was mocking now, deliberately needling his rival. "Ah, He speaks. And here I was hoping some affliction might have caused you to lose your voice indefinitely." Slim fingers pulled back the cover of the book where a name had been careful inscribed. "So it's actually Granger's. I might have guessed she'd read this sort of thing in private. Does she know you're reading her smut?"

"Malfoy." The tone was getting harder.

"This is so typical of you, Potter," Draco hefted the novel, as if weighing it against the Works of Shakespeare now locked safely in his trunk. "If you're going to read Muggle books, at least read something worthwhile." The tone was suitably condescending and he prolonged the moment by tutting theatrically. "So, what's in the folder?" He reached for it. As he did so, the flap opened, spilling sheets of parchment onto the carriage floor.

"Be careful, you idiot!" The sudden scathing tone bit into Draco and for a moment he didn't move as Harry scrambled for the sheets before either of them could cause any more damage. Still on his knees, he straightened the parchments and reached for the folder. 

"What's wrong? Scared I'm going to ruin your precious work?" Draco pulled out the remaining sheets before handing over the now empty folder. "What's so important anyway?" He cast a critical eye over the meticulous lettering on the sheets. "This is your Herbology homework?"

Harry had risen to his feet now and was holding the folder against his chest. "So what if it is?"

Draco shrugged. He had been given the same assignment -- Produce a Herbarium showing fifteen plants. For each include a dried and pressed plant specimen and details of how the plant is grown, its properties and uses. It had been an easy assignment as the grounds of Malfoy Manor contained just about every plant they had studied over the past six years and, of course, Draco had made one of the house-elves dry the plants. His collection was bound in a tasteful volume, the cover suitably inscribed with the Malfoy crest just in case Professor Sprout wondered who had produced it.

But Harry's work consisted of loose-leaf pages in a tatty folder. He'd expected more of the Gryffindor, that his work would at least be carefully arranged, but this? Why, there didn't appear to be even one plant specimen. In fact each plant had instead been carefully drawn, with some of the images subtly coloured. "You're not supposed to draw them."

"I know."

"You actually drew these yourself?"

"Why?"

"I just wondered." Draco wanted to say they were good. That he hadn't known Harry could draw.

"Please can I have them back?" Harry's hand reach out and the look on his face made it clear he thought the Slytherin might destroy his work.

"In a minute." Green eyes flashed angrily, but Harry remained still. Finally his arm dropped back to his side. "You know you're supposed to dry and press the plants?"

"Yes."

"You'll probably lose points for drawing them."

"What do you care, Malfoy?"

"I didn't say I cared."

There was a long period of silence when the two boys just watched each other. Finally Harry spoke again. "I did have proper plants, but they..." He took a breath. "They got ruined. Then I had to go home." There was a long pause as if the explanation would make sense to Draco. Instead the blond just raised a questioning eyebrow and Harry finally elaborated. "Most of the plants don't grow in Muggle gardens."

"Ah yes, of course." Draco frowned, remembering stories he'd heard about Harry's Muggle relatives. They didn't appear to be the most helpful of people and had probably prevented him from getting the plant specimens. Mind racing, he tapped the sheets of parchment on his legs. "Do you draw anything else besides plants?" Harry gave a little nod. "Okay," Draco said as he leaned back, his gaze challenging. "Draw me and you can have these back."

"What?"

"Simple trade. Draw me or I rip these up."

"I'm not wasting my time drawing you," Harry scoffed.

"Okay." Draco held up one of the sheets and made to rip it in half.

"No!" Harry's hand shot up, this time he was holding his wand. It was pointed directly at Draco's throat. "I asked nicely, Malfoy. Now give them back."

Grey eyes glinting, Draco's lip curled into a half smile. He leaned his head back against the seat rest, his fingers still holding the paper. "Shall we see who's faster, Potter? My nimble fingers or your little hex? I bet I can rip this in half before it hits me." He raised an eyebrow. "Want to wager something on it? I hear you have a fair few Galleons in your bank vault at Gringotts."

Harry's eyes darted from the sheet of parchment to Draco's face and then back again. They widened as the tiniest tear appeared on the edge of the sheet. Jaw tightening visibly, Harry suddenly pulled the wand back, the tip just grazing Draco's chin. "All right."

"Good boy. And you better make sure it's a nice drawing or I might change my mind."

"You want me to do it now?"

"If you want these back. If I take them with me, I can't promise they will get to school in one piece. Goyle was showing me his origami broomstick earlier and I know he's looking for more paper to practice on." Draco smirked, enjoying the uncomfortable shuffling of the Gryffindor's feet. This was, he decided, much better than fighting ... even better than arguing. There was something very satisfying in controlling Potter this way ... getting him to do what Draco wanted. Not only that, but it was an eye-opener to watch his adversary when there was no one around to back him up. Under normal circumstances Weasley would have attempted to hex him at least once during this discussion and Granger would have been spouting some psychobabble about how All Slytherins Are Evil. Potter-on-his-own was a completely different person from Potter-with-backup.

He wondered briefly which one was the 'real' person and knew it was the one he had with him now. This wasn't The Boy Who Lived; it was the boy he'd first seen in the robe shop when they were 11 years old. This was the Harry Potter who hadn't known about his own history, or how other people expected him to act. It was the boy who was looking for acceptance as himself rather than as some sort of living legend.

Draco's eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he remembered something from his own holiday. An observation ... no ... a realisation ... about Potter. That even though Potter was always surrounded by his adoring fans he was somehow isolated because of _who_ and _what_ they thought he was. People didn't encroach on Harry's personal space, they unconsciously kept their distance from him, and it was _them_ not Harry who placed Saint Potter on his pedestal.

Even the teachers seemed to keep that personal space sacrosanct. The only person who didn't was Draco Malfoy.

The memory of there recent tussle over both the book and folder, and the touch of Potter's hand on his knee came into sharp focus, washing a strange heat through him as it derailed his train of thought completely. The sound of Harry taking a deep breath made him look up with an expression close to annoyance.

"All right." Harry's fingers reached out again. "But give those back to me first."

"How do I know you won't just change your mind?"

"Because if I say I'm going to do something then I will. You know that." Harry gave a humourless smile. "Because I'm a Gryffindor." 

The was an underlying self mockery in Harry's voice, almost as though he'd had enough not only of Draco, but also of life in general. Draco stared at him for a long moment, trying to decide whether or not to pursue the point. Finally he held out the papers, watching as they were carefully tucked away in the folder, which was swiftly returned to the safety of one of Harry's bags.

Harry rummaged in the bag and eventually found a small art pad and some Muggle pencils. He pushed the bag to one side and sat back down in the same position Draco had first seen him, but this time he drew his knees up, using the slope of his thighs as a resting place for the pad. "Don't expect much, not with the train as bumpy as it is." 

Draco fell silent, watching intently as Harry concentrated on his task. Green eyes would flick between him and the paper. Little frown lines on his temple gave an indication of how much Harry was concentrating and occasionally he would bite his lip or quietly mutter something to himself.

Finally he finished and sat back upright, a hand sweeping through black hair in a gesture which Draco now recognised as nervousness. The sheet of paper was torn from the pad and held out. "There. Get Goyle to make paper airplanes out of that."

Draco took it from Harry's outstretched hand. He had expected something horrible even though he had threatened to destroy the herbarium assignment if that was the outcome. Maybe a caricature, or some nasty version of himself. Instead, Harry had drawn a small head-and-shoulders portrait with soft pencil lines, and little smudges of shadow. The portrait didn't move of course, because it was created with Muggle pencils, but Draco was captivated by the way Harry had drawn his mouth. There was a slight upturn to it, which could have developed into either a smile or a smirk. He wanted the image to move ... wanted to see what the expression would change into ... wanted to know how Harry had expected it to turn out. The eyes surprised him as well. They were the only piece of colour in the entire portrait ... slate grey shot through with an underlying blue. 

Blue? There was no blue in his eyes.

He was just about to make that comment when a shadow fell over his lap. He whipped the sheet of paper away and looked up to find Granger scrutinizing him with calculating brown eyes. Even she had changed over the summer, he decided. She'd done something with her hair and he didn't remember her robes fitting quite that well last year.

"Hello, Granger," he drawled, one of his best trademark sneers destroying the look Harry had managed to capture. "I understand congratulations are in order." He rose gracefully to his feet. "Though why Dumbledore should foist you on us as Head Girl I will never know."

"Well, at least we didn't have to worry about you ever being Head Boy. Not surprising really, as you were never even considered prefect material."

Draco's glare shot ice daggers at the girl. The fact he had not been picked as a prefect was a constant irritation to his father, who had been further enraged on hearing that a Mudblood had been made Head Girl. He picked up the paperback and waggled it in front of Hermione. "Is this the sort of thing you're reading when we all think you're busy studying? You better watch where you leave your smutty books, Granger, or you might find Potter stealing them." He glanced back over his shoulder at Harry. "He clearly enjoys a bit of girly reading."

Throwing the book down, Draco gave one last mocking smile and made one of his better dramatic exits. With his robes flowing behind him, he swept from the compartment and into the corridor. As he strode away, he could just hear Granger's voice asking, "What did Malfoy want, Harry?"

--~--

His own compartment was empty when Draco arrived back there and he all but flung himself down on the seat. After a couple of minutes he realised he had unconsciously thrown himself into the same corner Harry had been sitting and he quickly moved.

Damn Potter! Damn him for....

For what precisely?

Draco stared out of the window at the world rushing by. Damn him for just being 'Harry' and for having woven some sort of spell over him all those years ago. Damn him for tuning up in the robe shop, for being on the Hogwarts Express, for attending Hogwarts.

Damn him for being the wretched Boy Who Lived.

He looked down at the sheet of paper in his hand, the edge damp where he had been holding it so tightly. The image stared up at him with its mocking half-smile.

Mocking Gryffindor smile.

Mocking him.

Harry Bloody Potter could get to him even through a drawing for fuck's sake.

He began ripping at the paper, tearing it into smaller and smaller pieces, scattering them onto the compartment floor like confetti. With reach rip he repeated over and over, "I. Hate. You." eyes full of unshed bitter tears. The movements were measured, precise, and with each rip and every syllable, Draco felt a tiny piece of the enormous tension he constantly carried with him drain away. The release was addictive, the destruction of the page taking the place of every fear he'd ever repressed and every tear he had refused to let fall. The process was cathartic, and when he finished, he was left staring down at the shredded remains of Harry's carefully drawn sketch.

He blinked, the sudden realisation of what he had destroyed leaving him disturbingly bereft. A hand reached for his wand and he held it over the pieces, but the words of the spell to mend the drawing were never spoken. He toyed with the wand thoughtfully. It was just as well to leave it, he decided; if anyone found the drawing, he'd never be able to explain it.

Why did he let Potter get to him like this? He hated the boy, he reminded himself. Tucking his wand away, he stared down at the carnage and kicked a few of the scraps with the toe of his shoe. A flash of colour amid the white caught his eye, and he leaned down to pick it up. His grey/blue eyes had survived the destruction and in that brief moment, Draco realised that like everyone else, he had fallen under Harry Potter's spell. That somehow the hate he'd felt for so long had morphed into something else.

The hate had become something ... different, turning into fantasies and needs of a different kind, especially after his summer and the time spent with his Quidditch coach Alex Palmer. The sexual exploits he'd experienced with the older man had allowed his fantasies of Harry to take on a different, more personal nature.

What actually disturbed him now was the realisation that one of those fantasies had slipped into his mind while Harry had been drawing him, and THAT was what made him so angry now. He didn't want to think about it or about the idea that Harry might want to draw him naked or....

Draco let out an angry growl, trying to grind the scraps on the floor into dust with the heel off his shoe.

"All right, Drake?"

Grey eyes flashed with anger as he looked up at Crabbe and Goyle. Only much later would he realise that the small grey/blue scrap of paper ... all that now remained of the drawing ... had been tucked carefully into his pocket. "No I'm bloody not. Let's go and beat the crap out of someone."

********************

**_The Present ... Saturday 7th March 1998 ... 6.30am ... Slytherin Dungeons_**

Draco stared at the fragment of paper for a long time, watching his own eyes look back at him.

His mother had once told him his eyes were like diamonds, transparent little windows into his soul. She had told him that when she looked into them, she could see who he really was ... that he should keep them clear and bright and never to let the sparkle leave them. He remembered being scared at this because he thought it meant people could see through the shields he'd erected around himself, and find out the truth. The diamonds had lost their sparkle a little as he learned not to show his feelings in that grey gaze.

Sometimes he would look in a mirror and catch his eyes staring back at him. When that happened he would often try to see what his mother had seen. But all he saw was his father's gaze ... that same cold grey stare. And, worst of all, he'd never seen his own soul. 

But he had seen Harry's.

It shone out from those jade eyes as bright and clear as a mountain stream. Crystal clear emeralds that, for good or ill, showed everything the Gryffindor was thinking. Draco knew he'd looked into that gaze and seen it all ... fear, anger, love, hate, longing, need, desire ... every emotion laid bare.

But when Harry had sat on a bumpy train and looked at him, he'd drawn a picture that had seen beyond the shields and captured his soul. It stared back at him from the little scrap of paper ... the blue/grey diamonds that his mother had seen when he was a young boy and she had loved him.

He felt an unfamiliar tightening in his chest, which made it difficult for him to catch his breath. The sensation threatened to overwhelm him, and Draco found himself experiencing one of those all too rare moments of pure revelation as the truth suddenly hit home. 

He'd wanted Harry from the first day they had ever met. First as his friend and now as his lover.

********************

"Harry." A light rapping on the door accompanied the voice. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." The words were clipped, edged with a frustration Harry didn't know quite how to deal with. He was leaning over the washbasin staring at the hacked lumps of hair, which darkened the white surface. There were hair clippings on his shoulders and strewn around him on the floor as well, and the anguished reflection in the mirror told its own story.

"Are you decent? I'm coming in."

"No ... no I'm not." Eyes darted round the bathroom looking for some way to hide his attempts at a new career in hairdressing. "I'll be out in a minute."

"Too late."

As the door swung open, Harry didn't move. Instead he stared at Hermione's reflection in the mirror. He must, he decided, look like a pitiful wretch.

Hermione didn't say anything at first, instead she crossed to stand beside Harry. They didn't look directly at each other, but instead stared at each other in the mirror. "Harry, what are you doing?"

"Cutting my hair." He looked down at the small nail scissors still in his hand.

"Why?" Her gaze travelled to the scissors.

With a shrug he dropped them into the sink where they lay on the cushion of his hair. "I got fed up with it."

"And you thought now would be a good time to come up with a whole new style? Is 'scarecrow' in fashion this year?"

Harry gave a weak smile, the absurdity of the situation cutting through the anguish that had caused the drastic action. He was standing in Hermione's bathroom in the middle of the night dressed in only a towel attempting to cut his hair with one-inch nail scissors. "Can you do something with it?"

"Well, I have a very nice hat." A smile started to grow on Harry's face. "You know the one Mrs Weasley made me for Christmas. The mauve one with a nice pink 'H' on the front." He started to laugh and she joined in. "With the big bobble on the back. It would look very fetching on you."

They shared the joke for a moment before Harry leaned towards her, his head resting on her shoulder as they stared back into the mirror again. "Oh, Hermione, I've made a real mess of everything."

Her arm wound around his shoulder giving it a little supportive squeeze. "Yes, you certainly have. Have you looked at yourself in a mirror recently?"

"Ha, ha. Very funny."

"I'm serious." Hermione's hand gestured at the mark on Harry's throat.

"Don't." He quickly raised his own fingers to cover blemish, but that only exposed the one on his forearm, which he tried to hide with his other hand.

"It's a bit late for coyness now isn't it?" She watched as Harry let his hands drop away with a resigned sigh. "Are you ready to talk about it?"

"Not really."

"You're going to have to sooner or later. Something happened earlier, Harry. People don't just collapse for no reason..." Harry gave a little snort. "Not even Harry Potter."

"It's not that easy," he finally ventured as he pulled away from her to lean on the sink.

"Okay, I understand that and I'm not going to demand you tell me anything. But someone should know what happened to you. If you won't tell me, then please speak to Ron, or Professor Dumbledore..."

Harry looked shocked. "What? I can't tell..."

"No, no." Hermione was waving her hand. "No, I didn't mean about Malfoy and your sordid shenanigans. I meant about collapsing." Harry felt himself start to blush under her scrutiny and he had to look anywhere but at her. "Unless it's all connected."

He gave a strange, high-pitched laugh and finally looked into her brown eyes. They twinkled with amusement and he decided that if he hadn't loved her already he would probably have fallen in love with her now. "What? You think it was some sort of Slytherin foreplay? He conks me over the head and has his wicked way?" The tense atmosphere seemed to dissipate a little.

"Well, I don't remember reading that in _Hogwarts: A History,_ but I could check the Slytherin records if you want." They stared at each other for several minutes before finally collapsing in howls of laughter. Hermione was still giggling when she finally spoke again. "Look, as much as I'd like to stand here debating Slytherin mating rituals, I think you should get dressed and we can continue this in much more comfortable surroundings."

Harry found the tension and fear slowly leave him and he let out a long heart-felt sigh. "You're right, of course."

"Well, aren't I always? It's just a shame it's taken you seven years to actually admit it."

"If you tell anyone else I said it, I will deny it categorically." 

"Typical. You boys are all the same, full of hero worship in private, but never admitting it in public. Now, what are we going to do with your hair?"

They both stared into the mirror again as Hermione picked up a few strands between her fingertips as though she was touching something horrible. "There is the hat option, of course."

"It might grow back."

"I should hope so ... I'd hate for you to be like this for the rest of your life."

"No. It does that sometimes. Grows back really fast. When I was little, Aunt Petunia was always hacking at it because it was such a mess, but by the next morning it had grown back."

"Really?" Harry nodded as Hermione ruffled the black hair thoughtfully. "Must be magic."

"Don't tell her that ... she'd have a fit if she found out I'd been doing magic all my life."

"But, that doesn't solve our immediate problem does it. In about..." she looked at her watch. "Two hours, you will have to go down for breakfast. Do you want to assume it might grow back before then?"

"It doesn't seem very likely does it?"

"Well, you could try a spell on it and see what happens."

_"You _could try a spell ... it's more likely to work than mine. I'd end up turning it green or blond."

"Now, that would be interesting. A blond-haired Harry Potter. You could be a matched pair with Malfoy." His face fell and Hermione quickly changed tactics. "Or I could cut it for you."

********************

Thirty minutes later, the newly shorn Harry Potter stepped out from the bathroom. His fingers worried the hem of the t-shirt Hermione had collected for him. It was one he'd almost worn to death under his Quidditch robes, the once dark green colour washed to a paleness almost obscuring the silver writing across his chest ... _My team lost at Quidditch..._ "Well, what do you think?" He'd had to shower away all the loose hair, but finally he felt clean and dry.

Hermione leaned back in her chair and scrutinized him for a moment. She'd manage to salvage something from Harry's hacking job, and now his hair was a little shorter, probably just collar length. It still looked a little messy ... what Lavender had once described as 'just out of bed' ... and Hermione thought the only way to cure that would be to cut it really short, like Ron's. She'd styled it so that it curled over his ears, and around his neck, but for the first time the fringe was pushed back from his temple. It seemed to open up the whole of his face, even if Harry kept fiddling with bits to cover his scar. Now, if she could just get him to change his glasses to lighter frames, something that didn't hide his eyes quite so much. 

"Hmmm, very nice. I made quite a good job considering what I had to work with. Still nicely long enough to annoy people like Snape, and for people to imagine running their fingers through." He shot her a dirty look. "I have a list of people waiting for that dubious honour. And stop fiddling with the fringe."

Harry shoved his hands into the pockets of his jogging bottoms. "I am not that desperate."

"Of course you're not. Come and sit down. Dobby's brought us some tea." She indicated the chair on the other side of the low table where a tray of tea things had been placed. "Now talk."

He crossed to the armchair and rested his hands on the back. "I've been thinking. Maybe I should talk to Malfoy first. There are things I need ... I should check things out first."

Hermione shrugged as she began to pour tea into the two cups. "Okay, if you would feel more comfortable talking to him first." The change in tactic had the desired effect. Harry seemed to relax as he slid into the chair. She played her second card. "He came to me for help."

"He came here?" Harry didn't hide his surprise at this news.

"Yes. I wonder why he did that? Slytherins don't normally venture this high up, and to come right into Gryffindor territory as well ... right into the Lion's Den." She let her words drift off, able to almost see Harry's mind mulling over the concept of Malfoy climbing all those stairs.

"I thought maybe you'd ... you know ... come looking."

She shook her head, keeping up the gentle easy conversation, the one she knew would eventually get what she wanted from Harry. "I didn't even know you weren't tucked up in your own bed. Malfoy got in here." She changed her tone slightly and put on her best school ma'am voice. "You didn't give him the passwords, I hope."

"No, of course not!" He began worrying his lower lip, trying to equate the person he was sure had been lying to him with the one who would sneak into Gryffindor Tower, risking getting caught by Filch or one of the teachers. "Was he ... worried?"

Hermione shrugged. "He was Malfoy." She spoke as though those three words would explain everything. Then, after a thoughtful hesitation, she added. "He did seem concerned."

"Oh." Harry watched as Hermione pushed a cup towards him.

"Harry, can I say something?" He shrugged and gave a little nod. 

"Something happened tonight and I know you aren't ready to tell me what it is. But when you woke up you were really scared. I've known you for a very long time ... we've been through a hell of a lot together and I don't ever remember you looking as scared as that." 

"It's difficult to explain."

"I know. And I know you need to sort things out, but if you go to Malfoy and he does something to you before you tell anyone what happened, we won't be able to do anything about it. We know what Malfoy is like ... what he's capable of ... what his father is involved in. I hate to say it, but you don't know whether or not he's using you."

Harry stared at her for a moment. "I know, Hermione, I know."

"Then please tell me what happened tonight, someone has to know just in case ... well, someone should know."

The pleading in his friend's voice cut into the knot of worry still held deep inside from earlier. He pulled his legs up to his chest, resting his head on his knees, as he debated for a moment just what to say to the person who was his best friend in the whole world. Probably more so than Ron, which was saying something.

Dumbledore had told him not to tell anyone of the prophecy, but he'd told Ron, who had suggested he keep it secret from Hermione. As for his new magical talents, he'd discussed that with no one besides his godfather and the Headmaster.

The truth was, he wanted to tell Hermione what had happened in Draco's room, but he couldn't explain why he thought he'd collapsed without telling her about the dream stone. So he would either have to tell her nothing or everything.

So he told her everything.

********************

To her credit, Hermione took the whole story in her stride, but by the time Harry had finished she had no fingernails left. She had never doubted that Harry was special, and what he told her just confirmed it even more. The idea that he would have some form of magic different from others fitted in with what she had found out about his father's family and now she was left wondering about Lily's background as well.

As for the prophecy, was it really possible that something that old could be tied into Harry? Her mind was already mulling over books that might help trace the document and authenticate it. Dumbledore had probably already done that, but for some reason she needed to check for herself.

That thought caused a little knot of concern deep inside ... she had complete confidence in the Headmaster, yet someone had to watch out for Harry ... someone who didn't have a separate agenda.

Her reaction to the Portkeys and Lucius' letter had been just a little different, however. She had demanded that Harry go straight to Dumbledore and when he had refused she threatened, cajoled and eventually pleaded with him to be sensible.

Harry ... being Harry ... stuck to his guns. He would, he told her; go to Dumbledore after he'd gotten a satisfactory explanation from Draco. Until then please would she keep his confidence?

And that was where they currently were. They sat in silence for some time watching the now cold pot of tea as Hermione tried to comprehend everything. An impasse that neither was prepared to give way on.

********************

He didn't sleep.

Instead, Draco spent the time between his moment of crystal clear revelation and the inevitable crashing on his door accompanied by shouts of, "Come on Draco, breakfast," studying the emerald.

It sat on his desk, glinting in the candlelight, and Draco had come to hate everything about it. Even its value as a gemstone had ceased to be of importance and all he wanted now was to understand what had happened earlier.

He'd tried all the spells and incantations he could think of, from simple revealing charms to several rather complicated hexes, to find out how the stone had been enchanted, but none had worked. Of course, there were a few things he could still try, but that would mean getting into the potions storeroom and 'liberating' certain items without Snape's knowledge.

Lips set in a thin line, he picked up the stone yet again, twisting it between his hands as though _this_ time the information he sought would suddenly become available to him. There had been a couple of times when he had looked deep into the heart of the emerald and thought he'd seen something ... a flicker of light maybe, but it had been so ephemeral that he wondered if he'd imagined it.

His fingers tapped nervously against the cut facets of the stone. There was, he finally decided, one way to learn more and that was to talk with his father. If he phrased his questions just so maybe he could get Lucius to tell him why Harry hadn't disappeared and why the Gryffindor had collapsed.

Draco put the stone down and wrinkled his nose in annoyance at the residue that now coated his fingers. Even though he'd wiped the surface several times there were still traces of oil on it ... even magic hadn't cleaned it. He sighed. Now he would smell of sandalwood again.

"Draco, are you in there!"

The shout was followed by what sounded like a kick against the door and Draco glowered in annoyance at the interruption. He reached for his wand and quickly cast his privacy spells over the room to hide all traces of his work on the stone. Only when he had unlocked the door did he realise that the handle of his wand now had oil on it as well.

This was, he decided, getting beyond a joke. It was like Potter had hexed the wretched stuff and he was going to find it lurking on everything he touched for the rest of his life. Without thinking he tucked the wand away and wiped his hand on the side of trousers as he crossed to the door. The action stopped him dead in his tracks and he stared at the offending hand and grimaced at what he'd just done. 

"Fucking hell, Harry." The mark didn't show on the dark material, but swearing didn't help either.

He opened the door with more force than necessary. "What!"

Waiting in the corridor were not only Crabbe and Goyle, but also the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team and a few hangers-on. He stared at the welcoming committee for a moment before raising a sardonic eyebrow. "Are we going to breakfast en masse today?"

"There's a notice." Goyle spoke the words as if they should explain everything, then he sniffed the air. "What's that smell? Have you been burning incense? Snape will be really pissed if you stink out the common room again."

"It's nothing. What notice?"

"They've moved the Gryffindor match." Milena pushed her way between the bulk of the two Slytherin Beaters. "It's not going to be until next term."

********************

"It's got to be Malfoy's fault." Seamus peered closely at the signature at the bottom of the sheet of parchment. "I bet he's forged it."

"Don't be silly, Madam Hooch pinned it to the board ... Neville saw her." Hermione tutted. "All this over a stupid game, which I should point out is only being postponed _not_ cancelled completely. If you want to worry about something then it should be your NEWTs. Do you know how long we have left?" The comment was met by a chorus of catcalls from the group of Gryffindors clustered around the notice board in the Entrance Hall. Folding her arms, she glared at them all. "You'll all regret it, you know. Don't come crying to me when you fail."

"Good point, Granger, though I doubt even after seven years of study they'd pass much anyway."

The voice cut through the general hubbub and as one the Gryffindors turned in its direction.

Hermione recognised the lazy drawl and looked skyward as if in need of divine inspiration. Draco Malfoy -- the last person she wanted to see at the moment, especially not with Harry's tales still fresh in her mind. She would be eternally grateful to Harry that he had skirted around the more 'intimate' details -- it was bad enough seeing what she had seen earlier.

The rest of the Slytherins were arranged behind Malfoy like some sort of Praetorian Guard, while he stood there, hands in his trouser pockets, like the emperor she was convinced he thought himself to be. He stared at her, eyebrow rising in a question before turning his grey gaze onto Harry who was standing by the notice board next to Ron. Harry looked quickly at Malfoy, then at her. She winked at him and was pleased to see that he held his ground, green eyes glinting as he met Malfoy's gaze.

It was clear to her that something passed between them and she wondered if anyone else noticed. Harry shifted slightly, leaning back against the wall while Malfoy straightened a little, chin raised as he cast his cold stare around the assembled Gryffindors. He stepped forward, and, amid dark mutterings, the group parted as he strode up to the board and stopped in front of Ron, who made no move to get out of the Slytherin's way.

"Excuse me." Draco's voice was clipped. He had to look up a little to meet the Gryffindor captain's eyes.

Ron's lip curled slightly, and with exaggerated courtesy, he stepped aside and waved the Slytherin captain forward.

The notice was very simple:

**_Hogwarts Quidditch Cup -- Change of Match Dates_**_  
The following matches have been rescheduled:  
_**Ravenclaw v Hufflepuff  
**_Original date: Saturday 23rd May 1998.  
This match will now be played on Sunday 19th April 1998.  
_**Gryffindor v Slytherin  
**_Original date: Saturday 14th March 1998.  
This match will now be played on Saturday 23rd May 1998.  
Signed  
Madam Hooch -- Director of Flying_

"Happy now?"

Draco turned towards Weasley, his head tilted slightly to one side. He could see Harry standing just behind the redhead. "Happy? Me? Oh, I'm ecstatic." Grey eyes flicked to again meet the green before returning to stare down Weasley. "Did you go to Hooch and tell her you weren't ready, and pleeeassseee can we have more time?" His voice took on a whiny tone.

Blue eyes glinted dangerously and it was clear Ron was annoyed at not getting in the quip about asking for a rescheduling first. "In case you've forgotten, _we_ don't need more time. We could play it now and destroy you and your bunch of losers. Harry," he glanced over his shoulder. "How many points are we currently ahead of the Slytherins?"

There was a moment's silence before the Gryffindor Seeker finally answered. "Two hundred and forty."

"And how many times has the current Slytherin Seeker beaten you to the Snitch?"

"None."

The surrounding Gryffindors let out whoops of delight and in return the Slytherins turned on them, both groups breaking into arguments with much arm waving and threatening fists. The two captains watched for a moment, but made no move to help Hermione try to break up the altercations.

"I checked up on your birthday, Ferret."

"Bully for you, Weasel."

"So, is daddy planning on getting you a new broom for your birthday?"

Draco glanced at Weasley and shrugged. "Possibly."

"Well, you need something to replace your broken shaft don't you." 

"There's nothing wrong with my broom, Weasley. In fact I've been told it gives a really nice ride." He looked pointedly at Harry who was currently arguing with Milena, one of the Slytherin Chasers. Watching Harry's arrogant stance, the delightful profile and the gesturing hands brought pleasant warmth to the pit of his stomach. "In fact I've had no complaints at all ... unlike you."

"I've never had any complaints about my flying."

"No? I've heard tales about how you take them flying but the flight always gets cut short. Something about shaft weakness. You should get that seen to, you know. I understand it gets worse with age."

"My broom comes from a long line of very productive models." Ron glared malevolently. "Unlike yours. I bet daddy hates that he's only got one in the family, and a defective model at that."

"Not defective, I just choose to fly it differently sometimes. Have you ever tried it?" The grey eyes that turned on Ron were full of mock innocence.

"Fuck off, you pervert."

Draco shrugged and leaned closer to Ron, his voice soft so as not to be overheard. "He's got a nice arse hasn't he?"

"What?" The single word was spat out with incredulity.

"Potter," Draco nodded in the direction of the Gryffindor Seeker who was still arguing with Milena, and he realised for the first time that Harry had cut his hair. The knowledge threw Draco for a moment, but he quickly regained his composure. "Nice arse. I bet you're pissed you didn't get to him first. All those years of trying and you never managed to snag him for yourself."

"Harry's my friend..."

"Yeah, just like I thought. I bet you watch him in the shower..." 

The two boys had turned on each other and were now almost nose-to-nose. Ron's face was red with fury and both his hands were balled into fists. "You are dead, Malfoy." A hand snapped up and Draco felt the tip of a wand press against his throat. "You are going die very, very slowly." The hissed words cut through the tense air between them.

"Well, fuck me, Weasley, I'm sooooo scared." The only sign of his own fury was the cold glint of ice in Draco's eyes. He didn't reach for his own wand or for the one digging into his throat. Instead he raised a hand towards Ron as if to push him away, and let out a little controlled breath. To those watching, it looked like Draco had pushed Ron, but his hand never made contact. Instead a surge of energy whooshed from his palm, the magic flowing from him like an invisible pressure wave. It hit Ron squarely on the chest, sending him flying backwards to land in a sprawl at Harry's feet.

A silence fell over the Entrance Hall as everyone stared at the fallen Gryffindor Captain. It was as if the scene had been captured in a Muggle photograph, the little groups frozen in mid-fight or shout. Then, just as it seemed no one would ever move again, Ron let out a roar of anger as he took aim at Draco, the curse already on his lips.

"Ron! No!"

Harry's voice cut through the still air as he leapt for his friend, knocking his arm away. The curse crashed into the leg of the huge notice board, snapping it in a spray of splinters. Draco stared, open mouthed, as the board seemed to teeter over him for a moment. He turned on his heel, trying to get out of the way, but his foot slipped beneath him.

_If it hits me, it'll probably kill me._ The thought echoed through Draco's mind as something crashed into him, sending him flying across the ground. As he landed on the unforgiving stone, all the air was forced from his lungs in a single grunt of pain. Stars danced momentarily before his eyes and he pushed at the weight pressing down on his chest. It gave under his hands and his eyes flashed open. Notice boards do not 'give'.

"Potter." The word came out as a hiss as he realised the weight belonged to Harry, who had clearly pushed him out of the way of the collapsing notice board and was currently sprawled over him, hips and chest pressed very nicely against Draco. He met the green eyes and thought he saw something in them ... eleven hours ago they had looked at him with desire ... nine hours ago they had been hazy with passion as he had pushed into Harry's body ... three hours ago, they had looked at him with fear...

And now? What was the green telling him? As he watched, he thought he again saw desire and need. Then they widened slightly in what appeared to be horror, the reason behind the look suddenly obvious as Harry's growing hardness pressed against him. Harry's hands fled to the ground, pushing him up from the Slytherin's body, but that only made his hips dig harder into Draco's own.

Draco grinned surreptitiously and flexed against Harry. The movement was just delicious. He was on the floor in the middle of the Entrance Hall with Harry Potter getting hard. All his fears from earlier suddenly scurried away. If Harry hated him after what had happened, then dark-haired boy would hardly get turned on like this. 

"What is going on here?"

As the new voice echoed with undisguised loathing around the Hall, the glorious weight suddenly disappeared. Draco pushed himself up onto his elbows, eyes flicking from Harry, who was scrambling away on his backside, to the owner of the voice he knew so well.

Standing by the stairs leading up from the Slytherin Dungeons was his own Head of House, but what made Draco raise a surprised eyebrow were the two men accompanying the Potions Master. On one side was Professor Lupin, the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, and on the other Harry's godfather Sirius Black. Draco didn't deign to give the man the title of either teacher or professor. Whatever Black was teaching students, it didn't involve the Slytherin and that was yet another reason for Draco's distaste for the man.

"Potter, I might have known you'd be involved in this." Snape's sneer was directed at the Seeker.

Harry was now on top of the flattened notice board, his ankle having caught on the wood in his attempt to get away from both Draco and his own impending erection. "Professor, it's not..." Green eyes turned imploringly towards his godfather, but judging from the man's expression, it soon became clear that no help would be forthcoming from that direction. "It's not like it looks, sir."

"I'm not interested in what it looks like. All of you, get back to your common rooms."

"But sir," Seamus took a step towards the teachers. "We've a training session in an hour."

"No you haven't, Mr Finnigan." Snape folded his arms, hands disappearing inside the voluminous sleeves of his black robes. "As none of you appear to be able to control yourselves over a simple change of match notice, neither team will be allowed to practice until after the Easter break."

For once both sets of students seemed to be in agreement and the choruses of disbelief were in unison. Draco scrambled to his feet, aware that Harry was actually at his side. "Professor..." His words joined those of the other students.

"What?" "That's not fair!" "We need to practice." "It's their fault."

All the words jumbled together as the three teachers watched in silence.

"Enough." Lupin's quiet voice cut through the noise. "Severus, I have a suggestion. Mr Filch mentioned the windows of the Quidditch changing rooms need to be varnished. I am sure he would appreciate..." He quickly counted the students. "Eighteen willing helpers on a sunny day like this."

********************

"What's wrong?"

Harry looked up from his close scrutiny of his right index finger and gave Neville a sad smile. "I've got at least two splinters from that bloody notice board." He wiggled the finger. "I'll kill Sirius for coming up with the idea of me repairing the board and for suggesting I do it with Malfoy!"

Of course, Harry knew he couldn't tell anyone the real reason he was pissed with Sirius. The very last person he wanted to be with at the moment was Draco Malfoy. It had taken them the best part of the day to repair, sand down and then repaint the notice board and in all that time they'd had one conversation, which had gone along the lines of:

**Later:**  
Draco: "You've cut your hair."  
_Harry: "Yes."_  
  
**Much later:**  
Draco: "Why?"  
_Harry: "Why what?"_  
Draco: "Why did you cut it?"  
_Harry: "I felt like it."_  
  
**Later still:**  
Draco: "I like it. It suits you."  
_Harry: "Pass me the varnish."_

And that had been the sum total of their words to each other. The problem was that the fact Draco had noticed his hair had made Harry's stomach flip, and he had quickly realised that being with the Slytherin was exactly what he wanted. Yet he couldn't get out of his mind what he'd seen during the dream stone vision. He also knew he should talk to someone ... Dumbledore ... Sirius ... McGonagall ... even Snape ... yet somehow it felt almost....

Almost what?

Disloyal? How could he be disloyal to Draco if either Draco or his father were doing something that could directly endanger everyone at Hogwarts? He sucked briefly on his finger as if he could draw the splinters out that way. It was a mess ... everything about his life was such a mess.

Realising Neville was watching him, Harry finally pulled the finger from his mouth. "What about you?"

Neville shrugged. "Well, I'd have preferred to fix the notice board then all that painting. See these shiny patches on my arm?" He shoved his forearm at Harry. "That's varnish and it won't come off, even with Pansy's cleaning potion."

"So, that's where you've been." Seamus dropped down with a thud onto one of the armchairs around the fire in the seventh-year dormitory. "We wondered where you'd ended up after dinner."

"She mentioned the potion."

"Suuurrrre, Neville. The potion." Seamus toed off his shoes and wiggled his feet in the direction of the flames, deliberately ignoring the tirade of abuse from Dean about the smell. He dismissed the comments with a wave of his hand. "Piss off, Dean, your feet are worse. I'm surprised we survived nearly seven years with them. Hey, hey, hey. I've got an idea!" The Irish boy bounced on his chair. "Harry, you could use Dean as a secret weapon. Get him up close and personal with the Dark Lord and then take his shoes off!"

The four boys sniggered together for a moment, before Neville turned his attention back to Harry's finger. "You want me to get them out?"

Harry nodded and watched as Neville reached for his wand. "Did you all finish the painting?"

"Just about," Dean commented with a grunt. "You had the best part of the deal."

"Yeah, spending the day repairing a notice board and then sanding it down and repainting it without magic was a real fun adventure." Harry stared in fascination as the splinters slowly pulled from his finger, hanging momentarily in the air between finger and wand.

"I hope you got sawdust in Malfoy's hair ... or paint. Permanent unremovable paint in his hair would be good." Neville finished his healing spell and the splinters dropped into his palm. "There ... finished."

"Thanks." Harry looked at the finger. The inflammation where one of the splinters had been was now completely gone and there was no longer any irritation. "You should go into medical magic, Neville, you've got a real talent there."

The young wizard grinned as if the comment from Harry was one of the most important things ever said to him. "That's okay." He sat down with his friends. "Has anyone seen Ron?"

********************

"What the devil were you thinking of?"

Cloud stood before the desk, his head bowed a little as Shadow berated him for his earlier behaviour. "I'm sorry, but he..."

"I've told you that I don't care what Malfoy did or said. You stupidly tried to curse him. Have you any idea what would have happened if your curse had hit him? You should thank your lucky stars that Potter disrupted your aim and then stopped the notice board from hitting him. Do you know the trouble we have been through to get you the Head Boy post?" The boy opened his mouth to answer, but the older man held up his hand, silencing him. "Dumbledore is quite within his rights to remove you, but I think I've persuaded him that you weren't at fault. But I'm warning you, step out of line again and I won't be able to protect you."

"Please, it won't happen again."

"Really?" Shadow sat back and steepled his fingers. "You hexed his broom."

"I..." A flush of colour swept across Cloud's face.

"Didn't you?"

"It was ... well..."

"An accident? You keep on having accidents, don't you." The anger clearly visible on Shadow's face finally turned into something else. "Sit down." The boy did as instructed. "Listen, because I am only going to tell you this once. We are here for two reasons. The first is to protect Malfoy."

"But..."

"I. Said. Listen." The words were spoken as though talking to an idiot. "Why do you think we've had the Quidditch match postponed? We can't afford for Malfoy to be injured when we are so close. David needs Malfoy fit and healthy and I can assure you that he hasn't waited for nearly 18 years to be foiled by a brat like you with a vindictive streak a mile wide." He paused.

"Didn't it occur to you that they'd analyse his broom? That they would eventually trace the magic back to you?"

"No ... no it didn't. I'm sorry."

"So you should be. If you can't learn to control your temper, then I am going to have to teach you. Believe me, you won't enjoy the lessons."

"I'll do my best."

"You will do better than your best. From this moment on you will make it your life's work to make sure that nothing happens to Draco Malfoy between now and his birthday. After that, when he gets back to school you can do what you wish." A grin spread across Cloud's face at the thought. "Our second reason for being here is to deal with Potter. Your task in that is clear and hasn't changed ... watch him and find out what Dumbledore has been filling his stupid head with. And, when you're not doing that, to help me rip him apart so that his powers will seep out of him just as the magic did from Malfoy's broom."

The smile disappeared almost instantly and a look of hesitancy flickered in its place. "About ... about Harry. I'm not sure... He's my friend and..."

_"Was _your friend. You gave up that friendship when you decided to follow David."

"But I..."

"Has David asked for anything from you? He's taken you under his wing and trained you ... given you access to magic beyond your dreams."

"I know. But to destroy Harry? I know he's not pure-blood, but it just seems a ... a waste. What if I can turn him? Get him to understand about David and everything else."

Shadow gave a chuckle. "Foolish boy. Not even you could drag Potter away from Dumbledore's brainwashing. You have to make a choice once and for all, Cloud. Either you choose Potter or David. You can't have both."

********************

**_Harry's Journal -- Wednesday 11th March 1998_**

If anyone had told me a week ago I'd be searching through the newspaper archives I found back in January looking for things that might give a direct connection between the Malfoys and Voldemort, I'd have said they were idiots. Of course there's a connection. It's been clear for nearly seven years, so why do I need proof?

I need proof because suddenly it's very important to know. Before New Year I think that if I'd gotten proof that he was involved with Voldemort I would have been over the moon. At last I'd be able to go to Dumbledore and tell the Headmaster that I knew who Voldemort's spy at the school was. But since then we've talked and spent time together and had Valentines Day and the Astronomy Tower.

And last Friday.

But it's because of last Friday that I'm here now. Down in the bowels of the castle in this room that I don't think anyone else knows about. It is full of racks of old newspapers -- probably the complete back catalogue of the Daily Prophet. There are other newspapers as well -- ones I've not heard of before, so I guess they aren't published any more.

I've noticed something about the Daily Prophet. It's changed. It used to be much more serious ... more controversial ... than it is now. There's loads of stuff about the trials after Voldemort tried to kill me. But after they ended the reporting became less serious. Oh, there's still 'news' in it ... like back when someone tried to break into Vault 713 on my 11th birthday ... but there was nothing about what happened after the Triwizard Tournament or any of the incidents with Death Eaters since Voldemort's return.

It's like Voldemort has disappeared ... or never returned ... as far as the public is concerned. Dumbledore must feel like he's hitting his head against a brick wall sometimes. I'm not sure whether I'm pleased or scared to know the truth about what the Dark Lord is up to. But what chance do we have of getting rid of him if most of the Wizarding world isn't interested or doesn't care? Have they forgotten what he was like before?

And what about 'him'? Is he still planning on being a Death Eater like his father?

I spent years knowing what Lucius is and expecting it to be 'like father like son'. But he was different last September ... different at New Year. It was like he'd finally realised just what Voldemort really was and there was a little spark of hope in the back of my mind that maybe he'd changed. I even think I believed that until the letter in the vision. Could I really be that stupid?

I've not spoken to him much since then -- just a few words in class, but nothing else. I want to, but I don't know what to say to him. "I hate you because you lied to me," sounds like a good beginning. But the trouble is I don't hate him ... at least I don't think I do.

Or is it okay to want to shag your enemy?

********************

"Harry."

Looking up from his journal, Harry automatically closed the book. It had become an unconscious action now -- if he was writing and someone else turned up, the book got closed and the locking charms automatically set. He grinned at the visitor. "Ron, hi. What are you doing down here?"

"I was about to ask you the same question." The redhead dropped onto a chair next to his friend. "There's a room at the end of the corridor that seems to have taken over from the Astronomy Tower as a meeting place. I've just chucked a couple of Ravenclaws out and saw the light on in here. Have you any idea of the time?"

Harry glanced at his watch, surprised to find it was almost 9pm ... in another 30 minutes Ron would be perfectly within his rights to give him a detention for being out of Gryffindor Tower past that magical cut-off time when all good children were supposed to be in bed. "I lost track." He gave a cocky half smile. "Does that mean I get a detention?"

"Yeah right, Potter. You can polish my Cleansweep when you get back to the dormitory." He grinned at Harry and began flicking through some of the papers spread on the table. "So, what are you doing down here? Have you decided to become a Daily Prophet journalist and are here looking for inspiration?"

Harry swept an arm around the room. "Did you know this place was here?"

"Nope. _Hogwarts: A History_ mentions there's an archive at the school, but not that it seems to have every newspaper ever printed."

"Since when did you start reading _Hogwarts: A History?"_

"I didn't. Hermione left her copy open on the desk and it happened to be at a page about the archive." Ron scanned over an article about someone flaunting building regulations, snorted and tossed the paper back onto the table. "Why the sudden interest in old newspapers?" 

Harry flicked through one of the issues and pointed to a photograph. "Remember how Hermione and Justin had their pictures in the Prophet when they were named Head Girl and Boy, and then your picture was in there when you took over from Justin? Well, these are my parents on the day they were named. I've found out loads of stuff about them. I even found my birth announcement."

He pulled out the relevant newspaper and turned it to a well-thumbed page. When he'd first found the little announcement, Harry had torn it out, but had felt so guilty about destroying the paper he'd pestered Hermione for a spell that would put it back in place.

The words were simple:

_Potter: Harry James. Born to James and Lily at the St Keira's Teaching Hospital, Southampton on Thursday 31st July 1980 at noon. Our boy is here at last._

Harry ran his finger over it. "Ron, do you really believe in astrology?"

Ron shrugged. "Do you?"

"I don't know. Did you make it up? What you read on my star chart ... was that true?"

"As best as I could understand it. Harry, what's this all about? You've never worried about divination stuff before. Is it because of that prophecy thing?"

"Maybe." Harry gave a little shrug. "I've been wondering what my parents were doing in Southampton when I was born, and why they were there instead of Godric's Hollow? Did we live there first and then move to Godric's Hollow later?"

"Have you asked Sirius or Dumbledore? They'd know."

"Yeah, maybe I'll do that. But the star chart. Would it have been different if I'd been born at Godric's Hollow?"

"Don't know if it would have made that much difference, mate, but I'll check it if you want."

"No." Harry gave a little huff of a sigh. "It's all stupid anyway. I refuse to believe that my fate is foretold in the stars." He grinned at his friend.

"Oh? What about the prophecy then? Do you believe in that?"

"Yeah, sure I do." The tone was suitably sarcastic. "Did you manage to find out anything else about it?"

Ron shook his head. "No, but I did find a copy in a library book printed 70 years ago, so Dumbledore is right that it's been around for a while. But not anything before then, so he might be exaggerating with the idea it's 750 years old. Has Dumbledore said anything else to you? About the healing the land bit?"

"No, nothing." The lie was blatant, and Harry was surprised at how easy it was. "Ron, do you remember things from the second year ... you know, the Chamber of Secrets and Tom Riddle?"

The Head Boy gave a snort. "How could I forget? You being a Parselmouth, Ginny almost being killed, Tom Riddle being You Know Who." He gave a shudder. "All the spiders. I'll be happy to never, ever go back into the Forbidden Forest for as long as I live."

"Yeah. Neville said he's found you chanting a Spider Detracting spell."

"Well, I bet you'd do the same."

Harry smiled. "I won't tell you what sort of detraction spells I've got round my bed."

"So what's this got to do with Riddle?"

"I saw a picture of someone earlier and it reminded me of him." 

"And you're looking for a photo of Riddle to confirm it?" Ron asked.

"Yeah."

"But why?"

Harry sighed, pursing his lips thoughtfully. Yes, why? The idea of trying to find a photo of Riddle had started earlier in the week. He had been in bed trying to sleep, but his mind just kept going over and over his first sight of Draco's room. There had been the weird sculpture on the wall, and all the bits and pieces on the shelves. 

But there had been something else he'd not taken in at the time. On one of the shelves there had been a photograph of Draco and on either side of him were two men Harry thought he recognised. One was definitely Alex Palmer, the Seeker for the Montrose Magpies. Draco had made no secret of the fact he'd received some extracurricular training over the summer or whom it had been with.

It was the third person that'd caught Harry's attention. It wasn't so much that he recognised him, as that there was just something familiar about the man's expression and his stunning blue eyes. Then, when he'd finally gotten to sleep, he'd fallen into one of his nightmares, this time reliving the events of his second year in vivid detail.

The expression of the man in the photograph had been exactly the same as the one on Riddle's face after the Basilisk's fang had pierced Harry's arm, flooding his system with its poison. That image had remained with Harry all day, to the point that he was now convinced the third person in the photo was either Riddle's twin or Riddle himself.

Harry knew he couldn't tell Ron about the photo in Draco's room -- what kind of excuse could he come up with for being there in the first place! He rummaged through the papers again. "I finally found this." The newspaper was opened to a selection of Hogwarts related photographs, including those of the Head Boy and Girl for the coming year. Harry tapped one of the images. "That's Riddle. Do you know who he reminds me of? He looks like the guy who owns the Chudley Cannons. What's his name?" Harry tapped his fingers in annoyance on the table as he tried to remember. "Morrello ... David or Dennis Morrello." 

When Ron didn't answer, Harry looked at him. His friend had gone ashen, his numerous freckles standing out like painted-on dots across his pale cheeks. "Ron?" He reached out a hand to touch the other's shoulder. "Ron, what is it? What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

********************

**_Chudley Cannons Stadium ... Saturday 16th December 1995 ... Morning_**

"Wow, I don't believe I'm really here." Ron Weasley was standing on the centre spot of the Chudley Cannons Quidditch pitch, and he was currently looking around in awe. As he turned, he stared at the towering tiers of seating that surrounded the pitch, finally letting his eyes linger on the huge golden triple hoops at one end. He really was standing on the hallowed turf of his favourite team.

"Do you want to fly?"

"Could I?" Ron turned to meet the sapphire eyes of his mentor, totally unaware that his own blue eyes were twinkling with need and desire and yearning. The Cannons had been his favourite team for as long as he could remember, in fact he wasn't even sure when or why he had started supporting them. He'd been to see them play many times, but to be here on a match day as a special guest was beyond his wildest dreams. "This is brilliant."

David Morrello smiled benevolently as he placed a hand on Ron shoulder. "Well, I said I'd get you tickets, didn't I? And you know I always keep my promises."

"Yeah, I know." The young wizard smiled at the older man; still unable to believe the fact the person he'd met in the library during the summer was actually the new owner of the Chudley Cannons. When he'd found out a month before he was over the moon, and told everyone who would listen that he knew David personally. And now here he was, with his family, a special guest for the day for their match against the Montrose Magpies.

"So, how does it feel to be a Keeper yourself?" With a gentle push, David steered the boy back towards the stands. As they walked they left their footprints in the frost.

"It's really great. My first game's at the end of January." The words were spoken quickly, their speed an indication of how excited Ron was. "Of course, it's a shame about Robert. He was a good Keeper."

"But a Keeper who loses his nerve isn't much good is he?"

Ron shook his head, the image of sixth-year Robert Hesketh seeming to just lose it during the match against Hufflepuff still clear in his mind. Robert had been turning to block Hufflepuff chaser Megan Jones when he'd just stopped in mid air and stared into the distance. The Keeper had then flown to the ground and fled into the changing rooms. No amount of cajoling would persuade him to return to the pitch even though Gryffindor would forfeit the match if he didn't. Ron had been asked to step into the vacant position and he couldn't wait to play against Slytherin.

As the two reached the stands, David beckoned over a young wizard. The man stepped towards them and smiled. David still had his hand on Ron's shoulder as he gestured towards the new comer. "This is Martin Snell, he'll be looking after you and your family. Martin, I want you to make sure everyone has a really good time. I want Ron to remember today for a very long time."

"Yes, Mr Morrello." The man ducked his head a little, as though giving a bow.

"Ron is also going to join the team for our warm up..."

"But..." Snell looked shocked at the suggestion, while Ron's expression was euphoric, almost overcome with excitement at the suggestion.

"It's all been arranged, Martin." The words were strangely cold and the assistant's eyes widened slightly in what might have been fear. "I want you to find Ron a full set of robes and have him ready on the pitch in 30 minutes."

"Yes, sir." The words were almost inaudible and he quickly ushered Ron away.

As the two young men disappeared from view a figure moved out of the shadows, stopping at Morrello's side. He followed the other's gaze. "I think he's ready."

Neither man looked at the other as they watched the empty space where the young Gryffindor had just walked. "Yes."

"Give him the Firebolt as well, and he'll do practically anything."

"No. That would raise too much suspicion. Besides, I don't want him to get ideas above his station. Too many presents and he'll be almost as useless as the Malfoy brat. No, my dear Shadow, this one is pure and I want him bent to my will." Morrello chuckled darkly. "It's so easy when they're left wanting. And when our sweet little Ron finally falls he'll bring young Mr Potter along with him as well." 

********************

**_The Present..._**

Ron strode purposefully down the corridor. Someone watching might have described his stride as 'angry', and the set of the Head Boy's mouth would confirm that. He was angry ... in fact he'd been angry for so long that he'd forgotten what it was like to be a happy normal person.

And now Harry had finally made a connection between Tom Riddle and David Morrello. If he told anyone else and they believed him, then David would fall under suspicion. David's role as owner of the Chudley Cannons had enabled him to gain such influence in the Wizarding world, which would have been unthinkable as Tom Riddle. If he should lose that then all their plans would fall into ruins.

He started up the flight of stairs leading to the Entrance Hall, taking them two at a time as a growing hatred for the boy who had once been best friend gnawed at him. Ron had found out about David's true identity a year before, but it was so easy to ignore the fact he had pledged himself to Voldemort when it was David he was dealing with. Voldemort was an evil, bigoted megalomaniac, but David was... 

David was different. David had very strong views, but with him they suddenly all made sense. David treated him with respect and understood him in ways no one else did. David would make one hell of a great Minister of Magic ... a damn sight better than Fudge or any of the stupid man's cringing lackeys.

Ron came to a halt near the top of the staircase and plonked himself down in the shadows. Everything would be perfect if it wasn't for the fact Harry was involved. He didn't care what happened to Malfoy, even though, in theory, they were both on the same side now. But Harry...

It was one thing doing all this for David, but Harry's words down in the archive had reminded Ron that he was in the process of betraying his friend to Lord Voldemort and that knowledge was making Ron feel more than a little uneasy. There had to be a way to do what David wanted without Harry suffering ... to get Harry to understand that Dumbledore's wasn't the only way. If Harry was to come to David willingly...

He scratched absently at his left arm where the Mark given to him by David on his 18th birthday irritated his skin. He would have to be careful that no one saw the inflamed patch. Under normal circumstances, the Mark was invisible unless David was calling him, but sometimes it would itch when Ron was thinking about the Dark Lord and he would end up with red, angry-looking flesh.

Was it too late to turn back ... to go to Dumbledore and tell the old man what had happened? Harry was his friend; didn't he owe Harry something for their friendship? Maybe he should go back to Harry and talk to him.

Harry would understand ... Harry always understood....

"Granger!"

Ron froze as a familiar voice echoed from above in the Entrance Hall. Malfoy? He knew it was the Slytherin and a flicker of cold hatred condensed in the pit of his stomach. Malfoy ... out of his dank dungeon at this time of night. Oh the joy. He could give the git a nice detention. Not something that would be dangerous of course, just nasty and very, very dirty.

He crept up the last few stairs until he could see the Entrance Hall through the gaps in the stone banister where he could see the blond jogging down the corridor. It was only then that he realised whose name Malfoy had just called.

He frowned as Hermione came into view and stopped in the centre of the Hall. Malfoy had called to her as if they were friends ... well, maybe not friends, but not enemies. What the fuck was going on? Hidden by the banister, Ron strained to listen. He wished he could get closer and cursed the fact he'd left the invisibility cloak David had given him for his birthday in his room.

"Malfoy. It's a little bit late for you to be running around the school. Unless you're looking for another detention."

"I know. I need to talk to you, Granger." Draco was a little breathless.

"And this couldn't wait until a more reasonable hour?"

"No. You've been doing your best to ignore me, just like Harry has since last week."

The girl frowned thoughtfully. "Oh, very well. My office is just down here." She gestured across the Hall.

Ron wasn't sure when he had stopped breathing. Maybe it had been when Malfoy had said he wanted to talk. Perhaps it was when he'd called Harry by his first name. Or was it when Hermione had agreed to discuss Harry with Malfoy?

Hermione had gone willingly to talk with Malfoy. As they walked past him now, there was something about the way the two fell into step that set alarm bells ringing in his head. Hermione was being friendly with Malfoy. She was talking to that scum ... just like Harry was.

Ron was nearly overcome with a sudden wave of fury and resentment, his earlier thoughts of talking to people about Voldemort completely erased. Not only had Harry betrayed him with Malfoy, now Hermione was doing exactly the same. David was right ... Mudbloods and half bloods -- neither could be trusted. They would always betray their friends in the end.

Everyone was turning their backs on him. Everyone except for David.

Except for Voldemort.

********************

"Granger!"

Hermione turned and watched Draco Malfoy jog down the corridor towards her. She'd never seen him run before out of Quidditch robes ... in fact, she couldn't even remember him doing anything at a quicker pace than a stroll. He came towards her now, robes billowing elegantly about him, hair flicked back from his face, and she found herself not for the first time beginning to understand what Harry might see in the Slytherin.

Harry hadn't said much since their heart-to-heart the previous Saturday, but it was clear that despite everything, he was still enamoured of Draco. She found herself sneakily watching them both in class and during mealtimes all too aware of what she could only describe as sexual tension between them.

"Malfoy. It's a little bit late for you to be running around the school. Unless you're looking for another detention."

He was breathing deeply, as if he'd been running to catch her and there was a flush of exertion on his face. "I know. I need to talk to you, Granger."

She folded her arms as she watched him, her foot tapping on the flagstone. "And this couldn't wait until a more reasonable hour?" 

"No." Malfoy quickly shook his head and pointed an accusing finger at her. "You've been doing your best to ignore me, just like Harry has since last week."

Hermione let out a huff. It was true. The idea of discussing Harry's collapse or any of the other things he'd told her with Malfoy was something she'd deliberately shied away from. But the truth was that Malfoy was the answer to this and if Harry wasn't going to make the effort to find out, then someone else had to. Someone had to look after him if he wasn't going to look after himself. "Oh, very well. My office is just down here." She pointed to the corridor that lead eventually to the library and set off across the Entrance Hall.

Draco quickly fell into step beside her, but neither spoke again until they reached the little office she'd inherited as Head Girl and the door was closed behind them. The room was Spartan; it had a desk and a couple of wooden chairs ... not exactly the best or most comfortable place for a tête-à-tête.

"Sit down."

Draco looked at the hard chair and wrinkled his nose, but sat anyway. He wrapped himself tightly in his robes, and Hermione wondered if he was cold. The room might be okay for her day-to-day work, she realised suddenly, but it wasn't the place for this particular talk.

"Oh, come on. Let's go somewhere more comfortable."

She crossed the room to a little door, whispered a spell and pushed it open. "After you."

Draco looked at her for a moment, but stepped through the door. Hermione followed the Slytherin and felt a familiar little pull that reminded her of a Portkey. It made her feel disorientated for a fraction of a second, but the sensation was so fleeting it was as though it hadn't really happened. Another step, and she found herself in her room up in Gryffindor Tower. Closing the door, she looked at Draco who was studying her with an expression of intrigue on his face. "The rooms are connected by a sort of portal."

"Oh." It seemed to be all Draco was able to say.

"We have to have a room where anyone can contact us, so if all I had was this one in Gryffindor Tower I'd be cut off from three quarters of the school. This way, people can go to my office and ring a bell and I can go down to them without having to traipse up and down all those steps."

"I know there are rooms connected like that. I'd just never used one of the portals before." Draco's eyebrow rose thoughtfully.

"It's all password protected and keyed to me before you think it's some easy way up here."

"That thought never crossed my mind."

"I bet." Hermione pointed to the chairs and watched as Draco made for the same one Harry had sat in the previous Saturday. "If that's the case, then you won't mind telling me how you got in here last week."

Draco looked up at her and shrugged. "It's easy. You wait in the shadows until someone comes to that portrait of the Fat Lady, use a magnifying charm so that you can hear what the password is and just hope that there isn't anyone in the common room."

"And if there is?"

"Then you cast a _Confundus_ or distracting charm so that they don't see you. Or you steal Potter's invisibility cloak."

"And getting into my room?"

"Now, that was really difficult, Granger. I just opened the door." 

"Do you know how many rooms there are here? Did you work your way round them all?"

"With Potter passed out in my bed?" he gave a snort of annoyance and took out his wand. "There's a version of the Four-point spell that can locate people if you've set your wand to do it." He laid the wand on his outstretched palm and said quietly. "Point Me Granger." The wand spun and finally came to rest so that the tip pointed in the girl's direction. "Like that."

"Okay. So you have your wand charmed to find me? Who else is it charmed to find?"

Draco frowned as though realising he'd given away more information then he'd intended. "Well, it helps to know where certain people are if I'm off having assignations with their friends." His face took on a much too innocent expression.

"Hmmm. All right, so, what is it you were so desperate to talk to me about that you were willing to hang around the Entrance Hall waiting for me?" Hermione leaned back in her chair. She would look into that spell in the morning and find a way to block it. Except, she reminded herself, without it Malfoy would never have tracked her down and she couldn't have gone to help Harry.

He didn't answer for some time, and Hermione found herself watching his hands as the long fingers twisted in the edge of his robes. This was a meeting she would never have considered possible a week ago, not when she took into account the animosity between the two of them. Malfoy's spitefulness to her was almost as legendary as his battles with Harry. Everyone seemed to know of his 'Mudblood' taunts, which had started in her second year and carried on until the fifth. They had lessened that year and were almost non-existent by the sixth. But while the name-calling had apparently become beneath him, he would still look at her in that same condescending way.

Until Harry had let it slip about his interest in Malfoy, she'd never spent much time wondering about the changes in the Slytherin. So much had taken place in their fifth year and if she was honest with herself, it was clear to her that Harry wasn't the only person affected by Cedric Diggory's death.

Her father had some interesting ideas about Malfoy, most of which she put down to the fact he didn't know the boy or have to put up with him day after day. The previous summer Harry had spent a couple of weeks with the Grangers after the events at the Burrow. Harry had told her some of what had happened to him and Ron, but Hermione was sure he was hiding something. It wasn't that she thought he lied, but more he hadn't told her the whole truth. He had stayed with them for his birthday and after returning to Privet Drive, Hermione had talked to her father about Voldemort, the Death Eaters, Harry's role in things and, as it happened, Draco Malfoy.

She'd first mentioned him in connection with Lucius Malfoy, but as the conversation had continued, she had opened up to her father just what life with Draco had been like. He had listened carefully, occasionally asking questions Hermione didn't understand the reason for, but she'd answered anyway.

As the discussion finally seemed to come to an end, her father had sat quietly for a moment and then said, "Do you think Harry is scared by all this?"

"Of course he is ... we all are. Everybody gets scared."

"Everybody? What about Draco?"

She had scoffed at the very idea. "Well, he might get scared of things like Hippogriffs, but not of really important stuff. He doesn't get scared because he already knows what's going on. I expect he knew about the Burrow attack as well. And look at the way he gets so conceited when he thinks he's won."

"Why do you think he acts so cocky all the time?"

"I..."

"People get like that to hide just how scared they really are. How do you get when you're worried, Hermione?"

"I..."

"Ask Harry or Ron, love. When you're worried you turn all bossy. When Harry is worried he turns in on himself. Ron will revert to cursing people, but inside he becomes morose. Maybe Draco acts self-important because that's his way of coping with just how scared he really is."

As she looked at the Slytherin now, she wondered if her father might have been right. Was this Draco's way of dealing with things? Did he act conceited to hide his fear? Her father was good at reading people but could he make that speculation about Draco just from what she had told him? If anything she would have expected her father to agree with her viewpoint because in the whole conversation she'd not had one good word to say about Draco.

Yet her father had seen something else in Malfoy.

As had Harry.

"What did Harry tell you?"

Hermione looked up, realising that Malfoy was repeating his words to her. "Malfoy, even if Harry told me something, I wouldn't break his trust by repeating it to anyone else."

She watched his expression harden a little and realised that was part of Malfoy's problem. When he was relaxed and allowed his features to soften, the boy had a very pleasant face, but now it had turned into the arrogant Malfoy she'd hated for so long.

"I'm not asking you to break any trust. But will you at least tell me whether or not he talked to you."

Hermione tapped a finger thoughtfully on the arm of her chair. "Okay, let's assume for the purposes of our discussion that Harry and I talked. Why don't you tell me what happened and I'll let you know if your story matches with his."

"If you and Harry talked did he tell you about ... everything?" 

She felt a warm flush suffuse her cheeks as he stared at her with liquid grey eyes. Under other circumstances she'd be of the impression he was actually trying to flirt with her. Oh, not like Seamus or one of the other boys might, they'd be doing all the normal things ... leaning towards her, moving to sit on the arm of her chair, making nice comments. All Malfoy did was look at her and she wondered if that was how he looked at Harry.

"I know you're having some sort of relationship with him."

"And?"

"I think you're using him."

"And if I'm not?"

"I think you are. I told you that at the Valentines Ball and I'm still of that opinion right now."

"You think I'm trying to get him off the school grounds?"

"That's a possibility."

The grey eyes twinkled a little as Draco cupped his chin with his hand, a finger tapping gently against his lips. "If you really believe that, Granger, then why haven't you gone to Dumbledore, or McGonagall? They'd believe you without a seconds thought. I'd be locked up and no further threat to their Golden Boy." He held out his hands toward her, wrists together. "Know any good binding spells?" 

"If you're not going to take this seriously..." Hermione came to her feet, towering over the seated boy.

"Oh, I can assure you I'm quite serious. I've had several opportunities to kidnap Harry ... to 'use' him as you put it. Why would I wait for last Friday when I didn't know Harry was planning to visit me? He did tell you that, didn't he? That it was his idea to come to my room." Hermione found herself nodding. "And why did you let Harry meet me at Hagrid's hovel after the ball if you thought I was such a danger?" He waved his hand in her direction. "You did send him there, Granger. Whether you like it or not, you are involved in this."

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment. Malfoy was right ... she had arranged for Harry to fly out to meet with Draco on Valentines night. She could have stopped the two of them meeting up if she had really wanted to, but there had been a gleam in Harry's eyes ... a longing she'd never seen before when he'd talked about Malfoy. "I'm not Harry's keeper."

"No? Then stop acting like you are. If you think I'm a danger to Harry, then do something about it. There are people after him and he needs someone he trusts to keep him safe, because he's bloody hopeless at looking after himself."

"And you've suddenly decided to put yourself forward as his keeper?"

"Me?" Draco scoffed. "No, Granger, I just want to shag him. It's up to you and your little Gryffindor friends to keep him safe. I'm the enemy, remember."

Hermione opened her mouth, a suitable retort on her lips, but it got lost somewhere between her brain and her mouth. It didn't help that when she actually met his eyes again, the Slytherin had a lascivious grin on his face. She looked away, and drew a long fortifying breath. "If that's all you want then why are you here? You've had your wicked way with him, so why don't you just get the hell out of his life?"

"Because I want to talk to him. If he doesn't want to see me after that then fine, but I think he owes me that much."

"Harry owes you nothing."

"Are you sure? If you care for Harry..."

"How dare you come to me and question my friendship with him!" The anger was clear in her voice. "Just because you've suddenly decided it might be fun to have sex with your old sparring partner, don't think that suddenly gives you rights over him."

"And just because he's your friend doesn't mean _you_ have rights over him either." The Slytherin was now on his feet and they glared at each other from opposite sides of the little table. "Everyone seems to think they own a bit of him ... that they have some right to decide what's good for him and what he wants. Let him decide for himself for a bloody change!"

"Why not just use your direction charm to find him?"

"Because it doesn't work on him. I don't know why, but my wand won't pick him up. And the rest of the time he's always with you and his little Gryffindor posse. I can't just walk up to him in the Great Hall and drag him off without his honour guard hexing me within an inch of my life." Draco dropped back on to his chair, a look of resignation on his face as he took a deep breath. "All right. If I answer your questions will you tell me where I can find him?"

Hermione sat gingerly in her chair, as if it might suddenly disappear from beneath her if she moved too quickly. "I'm not sure it will make any difference what you tell me. I don't think Harry wants to talk to you -- at least not at the moment."

Long fingers rose to Draco's temple, rubbing hard against the skin. The silence between them seemed to go on forever and when he finally spoke, he didn't meet her face. "I know you won't believe this, but I do care about him. I need to explain about ... about something to him."

"An emerald?" Grey eyes flicked up, meeting her face. She thought he looked like he might cry. "He thinks you've betrayed him." That was more than she'd planned to tell him.

"What did he say?"

"You'll have to ask him yourself."

"Which, you will remember, is why I'm here." The voice was full of exasperation.

"Okay. I'll check if he's come back to the common room yet. If he hasn't I'll tell you where he's supposed to be."

Draco was just about to respond when there was a knock at the door and it was flung open, revealing an over-excited Seamus Finnigan. "Hermione, you'll never guess..." His voice trailed off as he realised the Head Girl wasn't alone.

Hermione's eyes flicked from one boy to the other and she was amazed at how Draco, who moments before had looked almost bereft, now looked like he had every right to be sitting exactly where he currently was. He smirked at Seamus and spoke in his customary drawl. 

"Evening, Finnigan. Care for a cup of tea?" His hand waved in the direction of what had a few seconds before been an empty table, but which now boasted a tea set, complete with two poured cups of tea and a plate of biscuits. Hermione's eyes opened wide in surprise and she glared at Draco.

Seamus stared briefly at the cosy scene before him. "What the fuck is he doing here?"

********************

Harry knew it was way past curfew, but if he was honest, he wasn't particularly worried. He'd just found a whole collection of newspapers from the time of Riddle's final year at Hogwarts and he wanted to go through them before leaving.

He still couldn't decide whether he was being stupid or not about Riddle and Morrello. The one and only picture of Morrello he'd been able to find hadn't been very clear, but there was something about the man that made him shiver. If he was right, then no one had to worry about Voldemort getting back into public life ... his alter ego had already succeeded in doing just that.

There had to be some proof either way ... Draco's photograph for instance. Harry sighed, if Draco had been photographed with the Dark Lord, then it just confirmed that the Slytherin was already involved with the Death Eaters. Did that also mean he was just using sex as a way of getting Harry for Voldemort?

Harry let out a little snort. Of course it was possible that Draco just wanted sex and it was nothing to do with Voldemort at all.

He picked up his quill and looked down at the collection of notes he'd written in his journal. The page looked like a spider had been running over it, making a web joining together the different bits of information. Underneath the name 'Tom Marvolo Riddle', he drew a line joining it to 'David Morrello' and another line to 'I am Lord Voldemort'. Then with a frown he slowly began circling each name ... round and round as he remembered what had happened with Riddle in the Chamber of Secrets.

There had to be something...

There had to be...

Harry's eyes widened in realisation. Riddle had used Harry's wand to write his name in the air and then had rearranged the letters to form the phrase 'I am Lord Voldemort'. What if...

Leaning closer to the page, he began crossing out letters on the names. First the letter 'D' ... yes in all the names. Then 'A' ... 'V' ... 'I' ... all the way to the letter 'O'.

Which left him with the letters 'T', 'O' and 'M'.

Tom...

He stared at the three letters before fishing through the newspapers again as he tried to find the photo of Morrello. "Yes!" There it was. David Morrello's middle name began with a 'T'. It was just too close a coincidence. Riddle clearly loved fiddling with his name to get something new, so why not reinvent himself a third time? Why not fool everyone by pretending to be a great benefactor to the most popular pastime in the Wizarding world? Who would ever think the owner of a Quidditch team would be the most evil Wizard in over a hundred years?

Add to this new identity the fact his role gave him access to just about every Ministry official in government, and Voldemort could have been spending the last two and a half years slowly putting his own people into positions of power while building his forces down in Cornwall. In fact, he could be doing anything in this new persona ... anything at all.

The consequences seemed too horrific to contemplate.

Harry's hand pushed into his hair, tugging at the dark curls with something that felt like frustration. He had to be wrong ... just had to be...

He looked up as the door to the room opened. "Ron? Do you know what David Morrello's middle name is?"

"It's not Weasley. And if you're talking about _the_ David Morrello, then his middle name is 'Tom'."

Harry's emotions sprinted through a myriad of types as he realised who the new comer was. Joy, lust, anger, fear ... everything. "Malfoy." The single word was throaty and he gave a little cough as he automatically closed the journal; his comments about the Slytherin weren't exactly polite and there was no way he wanted Draco to see them. "What are you doing here?"

Draco pushed the door closed and stepped closer to the desk where Harry was sitting. "I've been looking for you."

"Oh." Harry was cross at himself because Draco's presence made the breath catch in his chest. This was the person who'd betrayed him, he reminded himself. Draco ... Malfoy ... had been playing him for a fool since New Year and now it looked like he'd been involved with Voldemort all along. He also felt vulnerable, down here alone with the blond.

"I want to talk about last week." Draco strolled across the room and sat at the table. "In my room, remember?"

"I remember." Harry started to gather up the newspapers, using the action to keep from having to look at Draco. "I've got nothing to say." He piled them on a shelf and turned back to face the seated boy. "I need to get back to my room."

"Harry, you've ignored me all week and I want to know what happened."

"I told you I have nothing to say." He stepped past but was pulled to a halt as Draco grabbed for his arm.

"Harry..." Draco's grip on his arm tightened.

"Let me go."

"If nothing else, I think you owe me an explanation."

With a tug, Harry finally pulled away and stepped back a few paces. His forehead creased visibly and Draco was sure he could see a little tic at the corner of the Gryffindor's right eye. _"I _owe _you_ an explanation?" The words were tinged with disbelief, as if Harry was trying to grasp a brand new concept. The journal in his hand was placed on the table with exaggerated care.

"You left with Granger. You've not been bothered enough to come and talk to me about what happened. But I guess if you can't be arsed to tell me what the fuck I'm supposed to have done..." Draco came gracefully to his feet, brushed an invisible thread from his shirt and turned his back on Harry. As he took a step towards the door, he could feel it. Harry's glare burned into his back as though those green eyes were branding him. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end and the muscles down his spine quiver.

"Where would you like me to start?" Harry's words were restrained and quiet, as though held in check by sheer strength of will alone. "At the very beginning when you decided it would be fun to make me choose who I could have as a friend on my first day at school?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Harry, don't bring that up again." Draco spun back to face the dark-haired boy.

"Or half way through when you thought it would be funny to mock someone I watched die?"

"That is not fair."

"No, it isn't. Cedric was a pure-blood, just like you. What reason did Voldemort have to kill him? And what did you have to say about it?"

Draco said nothing. He remembered the incident on the train home at the end of his fourth year with a clarity he didn't wish to contemplate at the moment. _Too late now, Potter! They'll be the first to go, now the Dark Lord's back! Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers first! Well -- second -- Diggory was the first--,_ followed rapidly by the blinding light of a blaze of spells.

He wasn't proud of his actions ... at least not now he was older and, hopefully, wiser.

"Nothing to say on that? Then what about right now when I know that you've been spying for your father?"

"Sure, isn't that what trainee Death Eaters do all the time?" Draco scoffed, struggling to make his laugh sound suitably condescending. He wasn't sure he'd actually succeeded, however. How the hell did Harry come up with that one? Of course, it was the sort of thing the Gryffindor might say ... hadn't his little group of friends always thought Draco was some sort of super sleuth for the Dark Lord ever since Day One? Judging by the expression on Harry's face, the Gryffindor wasn't joking, he really did appear to believe it now. Draco had often heard the expression 'if looks could kill...' but until now he didn't think he'd ever seen it quite so clearly displayed. "I wanted to be your friend. I've told you that."

"No! _You_ wanted me to choose. I could be _your_ friend, but nobody else's. What did you expect me do? Choose you just because you were a Malfoy?"

_Well, actually, yes_ was what Draco wanted to say, but instead he just said nothing. He had the feeling that even if he agreed with Harry right now, it would be thrown back in his face. 

"You know, we could have been friends. It would have been so easy."

"Then why didn't you?"

"Because you walked into my life and demanded I do exactly what you wanted. You were a self-centred, spoilt child who tried to steal our sweets, insulted my friend and then even had the nerve to bring my parents into your little rant. Remember?"

Oh yes, Draco remembered ... just like he remembered everything else to do with Harry. _I'd be careful if I were you, Potter. Unless you're a bit politer you'll go the same way as your parents._

"Did you really expect me to follow meekly like a lamb to the slaughter?"

_Yes. _"No."

"Is that what you thought you could do now? Fuck me senseless and then hand me over to Voldemort?"

"What?" The bored expression Draco had carefully cultivated for Harry's little diatribe slipped a little.

"I _know_ what your father told you to do, Malfoy."

Hearing his surname spat out with such venom shocked Draco. He'd become used to Harry calling him 'Draco', and to hear him revert back to the previous antagonistic phrasing left him momentarily speechless. Then he noticed Harry's posture ... balanced on the balls of his feet, fists clenched at his side, chin jutting angrily forward and eyes blazing.

And the power emanating from him. It was almost like a tangible aura around Harry, lighting up the very tip of each untidy strand of hair ... making his skin almost glow. Draco remembered experiencing something like this before. When he had knelt before the Dark Lord the previous summer, he had felt the man's power rolling off him in dark waves. It was the same here ... the same ... but ... different. 

"Harry..."

"Don't call me that. Only my friends get to call me 'Harry'."

"But..."

"Saturday the seventh of February. Do you remember getting a letter from your father?" Harry took a step forward and then another as Draco backed away, keeping the distance as the other boy's power seemed to press against him like a solid barrier. "Let me see if I can remember what he said? Yes ... _you will never send me a message such as your last one without the appropriate security features. I will be arranging for you to receive the appropriate spells so you can set up a private link to me here at the Manor._ Isn't that how it went?"

Then Harry did something Draco hadn't expected. He smiled. But it wasn't the open sweet smile Draco had become used to, but something dark that sparked the power around him almost like a charge of static electricity.

Draco tried to keep his face passive, but deep inside his stomach was churning and he swallowed down the bile it brought to his throat. How the hell could Harry know about his father's letter? If Harry knew about that, then he would know there was a second Portkey and....

"What, Draco, cat got your tongue?" Harry rolled the name into a long sensual sigh and for a moment the Slytherin was reminded of Weasley doing the same thing on Valentines night.

"You've got it wrong. You don't understand." Draco folded his arms across his chest, suddenly feeling cold. He wanted to be out in the sunshine, not down here in the bowels of the castle where demons lurked, sucking out the joy from everything.

"Of course I don't understand. I'm just a stupid Gryffindork aren't I? Too stupid to know when I'm being taken for a ride. I bet you and your father had a good laugh about that over your little private link."

"No. It isn't like that. I explained to you, remember? When we were at Hagrid's. I told you about the coin."

"But he gave you another one!" Harry's voice was suddenly full of righteous indignation. _"Don't make the same mistake again. I know you're working with Potter in Potions. You are to keep your contact with him until you are in a position to use the Portkey."_ Harry had closed the distance between them as he spoke and he stopped in front of Draco and looked up to meet the grey eyes. "Is that what all this has been about? Waiting for me to drop my guard so you could send me off to God only knows where?"

Draco held the gaze for a moment, but had to finally look away, fixing on a spot over Harry's shoulder. "It isn't like that," he repeated.

"Isn't it?"

"No, I warned you that you weren't safe here. I told you to be careful."

"Yeah, but not of you." Draco flinched as Harry's hand rose to his cheek, cupping it gently. "Was that what Valentines Day was all about? Getting me off the school grounds so you could use your Portkey?"

"No." Draco didn't want to lean into the warmth, but he couldn't help it. Until that moment he hadn't realised just how much he'd missed Harry.

"Did you have a good laugh about that as well?" The words were sarcastic, but the tone was wistful. "At me getting all flustered over the presents and the clothes?"

"Harry..."

"And watching me making such an arse of myself when we got to Hagrid's? Stupid little virgin Harry falling for all the pretty words." Harry's voice was soft, almost gentle, and his thumb swept across Draco's lips, making the Slytherin take in a hoarse breath. "Was I a good fuck, Draco? Was that all it meant to you?"

"No." Draco's response was equally soft, underscored by a note of desperation.

"Stop it!" The voice changed, hard and sharp now, lashing out at Draco. Harry snatched his hand away and balled it into a fist. "Liar! How can you stand there and just deny everything? I saw it, Malfoy. I saw the letter. I know what the emerald is. I know you've been stealing things from me." The fist whipped back and for a moment Draco thought Harry was going to hit him. He flinched as it powered toward him, but made no move to step out of the way.

It never struck home. Instead Harry's face seemed to crumple and the Gryffindor staggered away, turning his back on Draco. "I'm not going to let you make me feel guilty. You're not worth it. Just get the fuck out of here." Harry stepped towards the table, leaning on the edge, his head downcast.

"Harry, please..." Draco wanted to move towards the distraught boy, desperate to take hold of him and banish the pain. "It's not like you think."

"You keep saying that. Then what is it? Am I wrong? Didn't your father send you a letter saying _we do have loyal followers within Hogwarts ... they're there for your safety and to protect you._ Protect you from whom, Malfoy? Me? Dumbledore? The good guys?" Harry turned back to face him. "I really, really don't understand you. How can an intelligent person like you want to serve _him?"_

"How dare you..." The confused temper that Draco had been holding in check erupted to the surface. He'd listened to Harry's tirade almost placidly, but now the insults were starting to prick deep, drawing insecurities from inside him he didn't really want to think about. "What gives you the right to criticise me? Who made you the purveyor of all things decent? You believe your own press, Potter. The Boy Who Lived ... Perfection Fucking Personified!"

"Sure, well, I _am_ the picture of all things virtuous in so many ways, aren't I, Malfoy?" Harry scoffed, the sarcasm dripping like vitriol from his words. "I can see why you might have trouble believing that I would actually have a fault of some kind." He suddenly folded his arms, green eyes dancing dangerously as he glared at Draco. "Okay, then explain to me why you follow him?"

"You have absolutely no idea what my life is about, Potter."

"That's true ... and you have _no_ idea about mine either. You stand there in your designer wizard gear and your rich-and-famous lifestyle ... big house, loads of money, both parents _alive!"_

"Yeah, and you're the poor little orphan aren't you? Not short of a Sickle or two, though, or so I understand."

"You want my money?" Harry thrust his hand into his trouser pocket and pulled out a little gold key. "Here, you can have it!" He threw the key at Draco, who ducked trying to avoid it, but it caught him across the hand raised to protect his face before falling to the ground at Draco's feet. "I'd give up every penny in that vault to have my parents back, every Galleon, Sickle and Knut. But even I have my price. Did you know Voldemort offered me that? When I was 11 years old he told me that if I followed him I could have my parents back. I refused and do you know why? Because there was too much at stake. Nothing has changed and if he made that same offer again I still wouldn't take it because..." Harry's voice faltered and he paused as if trying to draw on some deep inner strength. "What ... what have you got to lose, Draco? What is the price of your soul?"

_Everything! _Draco looked down at the key and remembered quite vividly his thoughts on New Year's Eve on what he would pick if made to choose -- his Malfoy inheritance or love. Back then the money had won and the idea of marrying for love seemed completely far-fetched. But now? If he turned his back on his father, he would lose everything -- his home, his family, his parents, his inheritance, and probably his life.

He wondered what his ultimate price would be. If Voldemort said to him "Join me and I will give you anything you desire." Money? Power? Glory? Immortality? All the things he had once believed to be "the answer". But now? Deep inside him a very small voice whispered _a night's sleep where I don't dream of darkness_ and even deeper and more quiet the response was _Harry._

Harry's home and family consisted of people who treated him like dirt. Harry's parents were dead and as much as he hated to consider the possibility, he was sure his father was somehow involved in that. As for Harry's inheritance -- that vault full of money Lucius had told him existed -- the Gryffindor (in typical Gryffindor style) never flaunted it and would probably never spend it either.

As for Harry's life...

Oh, Harry's life was torn between being the Wizarding saviour and being just the boy who was desperate to be loved for _who_ he was rather than _what _he was. There were moments when they were together that Draco knew he had the latter with him, when the dark-haired boy really was 'Just Harry'. Desperate to please. Desperate to be held and touched and wanted.

Harry had nothing to give up because he'd already lost it all. 

But Draco knew he couldn't vocalise any of this, because it hurt too much. To admit any of it felt like losing face. So instead of words of support and help ... instead of voicing his fears ... Draco responded coldly with, "I don't have to justify anything to you." 

"No, Draco, you don't. You've made that quite clear. But if you've gone to all this trouble to get me for him ... the Portkeys, the lies, the sex ... then I'll save you the trouble of having to try anymore. Give me one good reason and I'll hand myself over."

Draco opened his mouth to respond, but was momentarily stunned by the suggestion. "I..."

"Come on, you're going to pledge yourself to him soon ... assuming, of course, that you haven't already done it." Harry frowned. "But then I would have seen your Dark Mark wouldn't I?" The frown changed to a dark smirk, which Draco realised was modelled on one of his own. "Wouldn't that have been a bitch -- such a giveaway. So, come on, tell me. I give myself to Voldemort and get my nice Dark Mark, but there must be something else in it for me. What do I get to go with it, Malfoy? Power? Well, it might surprise you to know that I don't need that."

Harry raised a hand absently, as though flicking away a fly, and in a parody of Draco's own spell at Hagrid's cottage, he changed Draco's shirt from soft black cotton to shimmering Gryffindor-red silk.

"You want to be marked by someone, then have this one on me." Anger spilled out from Harry's hand and the energy slashed across the front of the shirt, leaving a gold lightning bolt mark across the red silk. For a second Draco thought he could feel it burning into his skin, but the sensation dissipated almost immediately. "At least you can take that one off. Ask Voldemort how to remove his before you let him brand you with it."

"How did you learn that?"

If Harry heard, he ignored the question. "But let's not talk about me. There must be some sort of payoff for you, since you want to follow him. What's Voldemort offered you to betray me?"

"It's not just about you."

"No? Then what is it about? Do you know who Voldemort really is?" Harry glared at him for a moment before turning to the stack of newspapers he'd put tidily on the shelf earlier. He grabbed at them, sending sheets of paper haphazardly about him until he found what he wanted. Then, with the single sheet in his hand, he crossed the distance between them and shoved the page hard against Draco's chest. "That is Voldemort. That's the Heir of Slytherin."

Draco wasn't sure why his hands trembled as he took the scrunched up sheet of paper. The boy, probably his age, who looked up from the yellowing page was disturbingly familiar. He looked from it back to Harry and held the sheet out towards him.

"No, take it back to your nice cosy little common room and show it to everyone who thinks _that_ man has the answer. Tell them that their Dark Lord isn't a pure-blood wizard. Even I have more wizard blood in me than he does ... at least _both_ my parents were magical." Harry pointed at the photograph. "Tom Riddle's mother was a witch, but his father was a Muggle, Draco. The Heir of Slytherin ... the person who spouts pure-blood rhetoric is only a half-blood. And guess what else..."

Draco met the blazing green eyes. His own had taken on a hooded look as he tried to cut off his own feelings and thoughts, wanting to hide them from Harry. "I don't know, you tell me."

"Riddle's mother died when he was born and he grew up in an orphanage because his Muggle father didn't want him. _That's_ why Voldemort hates Muggles and Muggle-borns. It's got nothing to do with bloodlines or magical ability. All of the deaths in the past ... what's happening now ... is nothing but Riddle's vindictive streak because his father abandoned him and his mother when he found out his wife was a witch."

"No, it's more than that."

"Sure." Harry ripped the paper from Draco's hands and let it flutter to the floor. "I forgot all about Riddle's plans for immortality. Are you going to help him on that quest as well? Become one of his Death Eaters and bear his Mark for the rest of your life?" Harry grabbed at the blond's left arm and ripped at his shirtsleeve. The button on the cuff tore off as he wrenched the sleeve up to expose the pale forearm. He let his fingers linger for a moment on the soft skin just below the inner curve of Draco's elbow. "What's Voldemort offering you for that privilege?"

"I ... I...."

Harry looked up and Draco could see the green eyes were bright with unshed tears. "You don't need to do this."

"There are things I need to consider." Draco wrenched his arm out of the painful grip and had to look away, but his chin was grabbed, pulling him roughly back to meet Harry's demanding expression. "Don't..."

"Don't what, Draco? I don't care if you want to follow him. All I want is for you to tell me the truth. For once in your life be honest with me."

Draco flinched away as all the times he had been honest with Harry came crashing in on him, and what those times of honesty were going to cost him, regardless of what else happened. "I have been honest ... I have ... remember...."

"Actually, I _do_ care. I care about ANY stupid idiot who thinks that following a mass murderer is a bloody good idea. If you want to be evil or become some sort of Dark Arts expert, Draco, then do it because _you_ want to, not because your father or mother or Voldemort tells you to. Don't be someone else's stupid little minion, be yourself for fuck's sake!" The breath suddenly caught in Harry's throat, coming out as a sob. "I don't want to have to face you on some battlefield."

Draco couldn't look even though Harry still held his chin with a grip likely to bruise. His gaze was downcast and he could see Harry's throat working as he tried to swallow. He watched, fascinated as a drop of moisture slid from the boy's chin, splashing on his black t-shirt and leaving a small wet mark. It was only when it was joined by a second one that he realised Harry was crying.

He looked up, watching as the green eyes brimmed with tears and he wondered if Harry realised. The grip on his chin suddenly eased and Harry almost staggered away, heading for the door.

"Harry, don't..." His own hand shot up and he muttered a spell, sealing the door closed. The magic was so palpable; it stopped the Gryffindor in his tracks.

"Unlock it!"

"I need to..."

"Unlock the door!"

"Not until..."

"Unlock it or so help me I'll blast it off its fucking hinges!" 

In the past, Draco might have left the door locked and fought with the person. To defer to that person would have been a defeat in his eyes ... in his father's eyes. But this wasn't the past. And this was Harry.

After a moment's hesitation he removed the spell, and there was an audible click as the lock opened. Harry took a step towards the door, but Draco was on him, reaching for his arm and pulling him to a stop. "Harry..."

Whatever the Gryffindor was trying to say came out as a sob, and he tugged at the grip, trying to pull away. Draco pulled him back, the momentum bringing Harry hard against his chest, the air around them seeming to crackle with energy.

"Don't go," Draco whispered. "Please don't leave me. Please..." 

Draco's words seemed to be the final breaking point for the Gryffindor. He felt Harry collapse against him and realised that if he hadn't been holding the smaller boy, Harry would have dropped to the floor. Draco tightened an arm around the narrow waist, while his other hand tangled into the soft dark hair as he felt the familiar face nestle against his own neck.

As Draco cradled Harry reverently, tenderly, the words began to spill out, whispered into Harry's ear. Confused, desperate words of admission and need as he held onto the boy, rocking him gently. He told Harry about the letter and the stone, how he couldn't destroy it without his father knowing and how he'd hidden it away never expecting Harry to find it. He told Harry that he didn't know what he wanted from his life but that it wasn't the same as what his father planned. He told the boy how important Harry had become and how much he'd missed him ... how much he needed him.

And then he realised he was crying, too, and that Harry was kissing him. Kisses that lapped at mingled tears in shared moments that dragged into infinity. They clung onto each other as though their very lives depended upon it. Desperate hands tugged at each other and they crashed back against the desk, Harry letting out a grunt of pain as the wood slammed into the back of his thighs. Draco tried to pull away, concerned words lost as Harry dragged Draco's mouth back against his own and he felt as though his lover was sucking all the air from his body.

His hands thrust downwards, gripping at Harry's buttocks as he hauled him from the ground and onto the desk, grinding their hips together in a need beyond emotion ... beyond words. There was only longing and desperate desire as he ripped first at Harry's shirt and then his own, fervent to feel the warmth of skin under his demanding fingers.

The shirts fell to the floor, forgotten as Draco pushed Harry back against the smooth surface of the desk. He stepped into the vee of Harry's spread legs and leaned forward, wanting ... needing ... to feel Harry's body against his own. Hips, stomach, chest moulded together and just as Draco didn't think they could be closer, he felt Harry's legs and arms snake around him, ankles locking around the small of his back, hands around his neck. The vice-like grip took his breath away and he dived into Harry's mouth, needing to claim and reclaim his lover again and again.

And again...

********************

In the shadows, close to the door Ron watched. Hiding behind one of the shelves stacked with old newspapers and parchments, his eyes were fixed on the two figures standing in the one clear space in the archive room. After he had seen Hermione and Malfoy walk into her office, he'd stormed off, angry with his friend for talking to the Slytherin, let alone doing so in private. He had wandered the castle corridors for some time, trying to decide how to deal with everything.

He would get his revenge on Malfoy soon enough, but his problem at the moment was Harry's suspicion that David and Voldemort were one and the same. So he had come back to the archive hoping Harry would still be there because he didn't want to discuss this in the Gryffindor common room. Hidden under his cloak, he had pushed open the door and realised almost immediately that his friend was no longer alone and deeply embroiled in an argument.

With fucking Malfoy. The bloody Slytherin just couldn't leave Harry alone for a single minute.

At first he was torn between getting the hell out or striding in and slapping the Slytherin in the mouth. Instead he watched from under the safety of his invisibility cloak in fascination, first angry and then intrigued by the argument ... by the admissions of both boys. He felt almost voyeuristic as he watched, a strange sensation tickling in his chest as he watched Harry shouting down the Slytherin, besting all of Malfoy's attempts at responding. It was ... 

It was ...

He swallowed, trying to will the sensation away as he moved to get a better look at Harry ... at the way he held himself, the stretch of his shirt over his back, the angry colour in his eyes, and ... oh God...

The Power emanating from him.

It was like a physical presence in the room, and Ron found himself desperate to get closer to the source ... to be part of that magical energy ... to feed on it. He groaned almost plaintively, the sound lost in the dusty shelves.

But it shouldn't be like this. Harry shouldn't have innate magic this powerful ... he shouldn't have any left at all. Harry's magic was supposed to be weakened, diluted almost to the point of non-existence, yet he seemed to be stronger than ever. More powerful than...

Than...

Ron crept closer, chewing absently on his fingernail as Harry touched Malfoy's face. Listening to their whispered words. Watching as the magic flared between them, a feeling of panic erupting in him as the door locked, preventing his only path of escape.

If they found him...

Then Malfoy had taken Harry in his arms, and Ron felt anger wrench in the pit of his stomach. How dare he!

How DARE he!

He gripped onto a shelf, wanting to sweep the papers to one side ... to let them known he was here ... that they weren't alone. Instead his gaze was fixed on the muscles of Malfoy's naked back. The way Harry held onto him, fingers marking the pale flesh with long red lines.

He'd been right. Harry was gay and he was sleeping with Malfoy. They were kissing ... kissing like lovers ... and Malfoy's hand was....

Ron fled the room and threw up in the corridor.

********************

**Saturday 14th March 1998**

He liked mornings like this -- ones where the mist rolled off the lake, making it look like the water was on fire. The white tendrils spread over the damp dew-covered grass, covering the ground like a blanket, and winding around Draco's legs. He was sitting on a fallen tree, wrapped in a warm cloak, but he knew the mist was already dampening the material ... he'd been out this early enough times in the past to know how it would soak into the cloth and dampen his hair.

Draco pulled up his legs, resting them on the trunk and wrapped his arms around his knees. He liked days like this because he had Hogwarts all to himself. On other mornings when the sun shone people would be out before breakfast, practicing Quidditch or walking or taking the time for quiet assignations with their current loves. But no one else seemed to be out today. Of course the fact it was a Saturday meant most people would still be in bed asleep.

Except, of course, for Harry Potter.

He watched as the Gryffindor made a fuss over his owl, letting Hedwig fly off only to come back to his arm for whatever tasty morsel Harry held out for her. The boy and bird were too far away to see him -- at least that was what Draco hoped. He didn't want to talk to Harry at the moment; didn't want to be drawn into a discussion with questions that he wasn't sure he could answer.

It had been two days since their confrontation and the mind-shattering sex that had followed. Two days of going to breakfast, then lessons, then dinner and hours of trying to figure out just what was going on. Two days of watching Harry blush and look away and Draco knowing he would be hard for the Gryffindor within minutes.

Two days in which they hadn't spoken a word to each other. They'd had sex down in that dusty archive room ... angry, cathartic, heart-wrenchingly intense sex that had left them both bruised and gasping for something Draco couldn't comprehend. The emotions were too deep, too entrenched.

Too painful.

They hadn't spoken; any words seemed to be lost in hard bruising kisses, and afterwards, they had dressed in silence. Then, just when Draco had finally come up with something to say, Harry had turned his back on him and started picking up the scattered newspapers that they had brushed to the floor. He had watched for a moment, torn between wanting to help and needing to speak, desperate to pull Harry round to face him, but in the end he'd left Harry to his newsprint.

He liked to believe he'd left because Harry was ignoring him. Or that he was angry with Harry for making him feel the way he did. But the truth was the part of him that had fled from Hagrid's the Sunday after Valentines Day needed to flee again and he didn't know why. 

As the snowy owl flew off again, Draco rubbed absently at his left arm. There was a ring of bruises ... little finger-shaped bruises ... on both of his arms ... where Harry had clutched at his flesh almost in desperation. At the tip of each bruise was the crescent mark of a fingernail where his nails had dug in so deeply that they, too, had left bruises. Draco knew he could banish the marks easily, but he finally understood Harry's request for Draco to mark him. There was something intimately territorial about having Harry's fingers mark his skin, something about wanting the Gryffindor to possess him.

Yet, there was something more than that. He kept telling himself he was only in this for the sex ... the physical pleasure of knowing he'd possessed Harry ... that he'd taken the dark-haired boy's virginity and that no one else could ever have that part of him. But if it really was just for the sex, then why could he count the number of times they'd been together on one hand? Why couldn't he stride over to the Gryffindor right now and take him on the grassy lawns of the castle grounds? Or drag him into some empty classroom at any time in the last two days and take him on a desk? Or push Harry to his knees in a corridor and spear that incredible mouth?

And why did those few times ... the Sunday at Hagrid's cottage, the interrupted session in the Astronomy Tower, the incredible night in his room, the awesome stretch of time in the archive ... mean so much to him?

Harry was on Dumbledore's side. Harry was the enemy of his beloved father. Harry stood for everything Draco believed was wrong with the Wizarding world. Being pure-blood _had_ to mean something even in this day and age. People had to understand that by marrying outside of the Wizarding world the very magic they all relied upon was being diluted and destroyed. That Mudbloods were just Muggles with access to innate magic.

But, if that was true why was Granger considered to be the best witch of her generation? He would never admit it to her face, but he had nothing but admiration of her ability to control magic. She was a Mudblood ... a Muggle-born ... the hated enemy who Voldemort wanted wiped off the face of the world.

How could he respect her?

Draco knew he'd already told Harry too much. The fact he'd admitted getting the letter from his father was enough to have Dumbledore expel him from the school -- the Headmaster could even hand him over to the Aurors if they found out about the Portkey. He'd spent the last 48 hours waiting for the call to Dumbledore's office, but nothing had happened. Did that mean Harry hadn't told anyone about their discussions, or that the Headmaster in one of his off-the-wall moments had decided to do nothing about it?

_If you want to be evil or become some sort of Dark Arts expert, Draco, then do it because you want to, not because your father or mother or Voldemort tells you to._

Harry's words ... the ones that seemed to be set on a continuous loop in his head. Draco watched the Gryffindor wait for Hedwig to return. His own eagle owl never spent time with him the way Hedwig did with Harry. Sophocles would arrive with Draco's mail (which usually consisted of regular notes from his mother), and occasionally stop for a bit of breakfast before disappearing to the Owlery. The bird would never linger in the Great Hall as Hedwig did with Harry, nor could Draco imagine it spending time with him now, just flying around the grounds. In fact, Draco didn't think any of the owls were as friendly as Hedwig was with Harry.

The snowy owl fluttered back down to Harry's shoulder and the boy began walking towards the castle. Draco sighed as Harry disappeared into the mist. He wondered if Harry thought about him ... whether their conversations played over and over in his mind as well.

The truth was that Draco knew he did things simply because his father expected it. He wanted ... needed ... Lucius' approval. Could he just keep things the way they were and still have Harry? Was that what he really wanted? He knew that as much as he thought he could juggle these two worlds, it wouldn't work. He had no doubt his father could tell when he was lying, so to keep any relationship hidden from Lucius was next to impossible, especially given _who_ that relationship was with. It would be hard enough to go home at Easter and lie to his father about why he hadn't managed to capture the Gryffindor, without hiding the fact he was shagging him in his spare time.

What if Lucius was wrong? What if everything Draco had thought and been taught was a lie?

Draco's head dropped to his knees. Was Harry really worth all this ... this confusion? All the lies and deceit? Would Harry still want him if he followed his father's plans? Draco knew Lucius expected him to join the Dark Lord ... that had been made quite clear last summer. Would his father listen if Draco told him he wasn't ready to pledge himself ... that Draco wanted to wait until after he had finished school before making his decision? Was that too much to ask?

He was sure his father would never force him to do something he didn't want. Lucius loved him. Lucius would protect him against anything ... all Draco had to do was ask.

But he needed to know. Needed to find out what magic was being weaved around both him and Harry. Not only by his father, but by Dumbledore as well. Everything was connected in ways he didn't yet comprehend and he needed to understand how Harry fitted into his life and what linked the two of them together. There had to be something ... something more to their constant animosity turned to lust.

He thought about the magicks his father had taught him since he was old enough to wave a wand. How his father had come to him the week before school started with a new project. Draco was to teach himself the art of wandless magic. At first he'd laughed, thinking Lucius had been joking, but it had soon become clear just how serious the man was. So Draco had thrown himself into this new art despite the fact it left him fatigued and confused.

It was like that whenever he performed Dark Magic ... the spells and rituals always sapped the strength from his body, drawing out the warmth from deep inside. There were times after he had finished his father's latest instructions that he wondered if he would ever feel warm again. He would come out into the sun and try to draw its heat into his bones or huddle in front of the fire swathed in blankets. 

Would Harry want him if he knew about the Magic? Would he bring Draco hot drinks and cuddle warmth back into him?

Draco pulled his mind sharply away from that distraction. He knew that he could find the answers to at least some of his questions through the Dark Arts his father had taught him. It would be hard doing the rituals here at the school, shielding them from Dumbledore and the other teachers, but Draco knew he could do it. He had to find answers to the questions gnawing at his insides.

A knot of pain was growing in his stomach and Draco wasn't sure whether it was hunger or fear. He took a breath as he straightened and looked back towards the castle. The mist had lifted, leaving a few little pockets in hollows in the ground and he quickly realised he was no longer alone. Sitting on the end of the tree trunk, just looking at him with her big yellow eyes, was Hedwig. There was no sign of a letter or Harry, and he wondered just how long the owl had been there and exactly what she knew.

********************

The room was in almost total darkness except for a ribbon of silver light from the moon. It had reached full moon the previous night and now it filtered through the small arched frost-covered window high up in the wall and spread across the cold stone floor, interrupted only by the dark form of a kneeling person, swathed in black hooded robes, his back to the window.

If he had cared to climb up to the window and look through the glass, he would have seen the moonlight blaze across the Hogwarts grounds. But all his concentration was on the single candle on the floor in front of him. It was sitting in the darkness of his shadow, warming the bronze coloured bowl above it.

Draco was aware of the cold stone beneath his knees, could feel its chill seeping into his shins as he knelt before the candle, but he didn't move. He pushed the ache it brought to his muscles and the stiffness in his joints to one side, using the pain to deepen his level of consciousness rather than jerk him back to reality. His hands rested lightly on his thighs, the sleeves of his black robes almost covering them so that just the white fingertips with their normally perfect nails showed. The nails were far from perfect now. Each had been bitten down to the quick, a sure sign of his own nervous exhaustion.

Around him on the dark stone, it was just possible to pick out the symbols and marks he had painstakingly drawn over the course of the day as he'd prepared the room. They seemed to glow slightly in the moonlight, adding to the air of enchantment that saturated the room from the layers of magic he had carefully constructed.

The first layer had been a shield to prevent the Dark Magic he was using from being detected. The second had been protection to keep him safe. Nowhere in Hogwarts was safe anymore, at least not until he found out who his father had sent to the school. The third layer was infused with spells to pull him back if he became trapped within his own Dark work.

The fourth had let him tap into the spells his father had used on the emerald. He understood them now ... knew what Darks Arts had been crafted into the stone. He could change them if he wished ... make it his own now that he understood what his father was trying to achieve. 

And now he had reached the fifth layer. He'd never gone this far on his own. Never....

Draco reached for a small flask of water, the movement freeing his hair from the confines of the hood of his robes; the strands glinted softly in the candlelight as a hand rose to brush them away. He poured the water into the bowl, it hissed as it touched the warm metal, and Draco carefully began to whisper another of many incantations. Returning the flask to its correct position, he picked up a small silver stiletto and pressed the razor sharp tip against the ball of his thumb. He had always refused to cut himself for blood to use in his magical work, determined not to mar his skin with the criss-cross marks he knew were on his father's body. Instead he had perfected a method that allowed him to pierce his skin just enough to cause the blood to flow.

Calm features grimaced slightly as the blade cut into his flesh, but they soon settled back into the placid mask as he leaned forward and allowed five drops of blood to fall into the bowl. The red drops remained whole for a moment before slowly spreading across the surface, mingling with the warming water.

He placed the stiletto back on the floor and his bloodied hand returned to its place on his thigh. He could sense the blood marking his robes, but did nothing to prevent it as the fifth layer of magic encircled him and in a voice hoarse from hours of whispered incantations, he loudly intoned, "Show me."

********************

The protection spells he had layered around himself did keep Draco's activities secret, but they also had a drawback. He hadn't realised that if someone was looking for his magical signature they could track him down or that his protection spells prevented him from picking up any other magical activity in the castle. If he had looked carefully, he would have found out that others were aware of what he was doing and were tapping into his magic. They were slowly breaking through his layers of protection and using his carefully crafted spells to work their own magic.

Like a mirror of the room where Draco currently knelt in solitude, the two sat in darkness. There was no window here, and no moonlight spilled across the marked floor deep within the castle. The candlelight flickered over their features, casting them into stark relief against their black robes. The boy had his eyes closed, a raised hand circling over the flame, the elder man watched in rapt concentration.

"Well, Cloud?" the voice whispered. "What do you see?

Eyelids flickered open, revealing a glazed stare. It focused on a point somewhere else in the castle -- in another room -- on another person. "He's looking into himself. Looking at memories ... long-forgotten memories." Without looking at the candle, he picked up a pinch of powder from a small plate beside him and sprinkled it onto the flame. It flared upwards producing a thin almost transparent sheet of iridescent smoke. Within the shimmering swirls, a figure emerged, that of a kneeling person. "He's troubled. It's very strong."

"Is he looking for the other?" Shadow finally asked.

"No." A frown marked the features for a moment. "No, he's within himself for now. But his questions are focused on the other."

"Good, he will seek him out eventually, so we must find him first. Are you ready?"

The glazed look slowly left Cloud's blue eyes as he snatched a hand out towards the figure in the smoke. His fingers yanked at the image and it collapsed as he drew his arm swiftly back. Then, taking a brief, but deep breath, his gaze dropped to the floor and the photograph carefully laid in front of him at the beginning of the ritual. It was of Harry Potter in his Quidditch gear. The image in the photo leaned against his broomstick, a cocky half-smile on his face.

Taking hold of the edge of the photograph, Cloud held it in the flame of the candle waiting for the edge to catch light. The Harry image saw the fire and began to back away, letting go of the broom as the flames licked closer.

Dropping the half-burned photograph into a small silver dish, he watched as the Harry image disappeared out of the photo frame just as the broom burst into flame. The paper curled slowly, blackening in the heat until the flames flickered over the point the Harry image had disappeared. As the fire finally engulfed what was left of the image, a scream echoed through the otherwise silent room.

With a slight smile, Cloud looked at Shadow, who nodded at him. "I'm ready."

********************

Climbing through the portrait hole, Harry all but dragged himself across the empty Gryffindor common room and up the stairs to his dormitory. He wasn't sure how he made it to his own little room and he stood for a moment staring at his bed, wondering if he actually had the strength to cross those final few feet. The pain in his head pounded through his skull and when he raised a hand to his face, his skin felt hot ... feverish.

And in the back of his mind, there was a distressing thought that if he slept now, he might never wake up again.

It had hit him as he began walking up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower -- a feeling of such profound tiredness it had caused him to actually slump to the ground at one point. In fact, if it hadn't been for Peeves the poltergeist, he would probably still be sitting on the stairs where he had fallen.

Then his scar had started to hurt as well. He rubbed absently at the lightning bolt mark just above his right eye. It didn't actually hurt as such; it was more like an irritation as if he'd been stung. Not like when Voldemort was around he decided, yet there was something about it. Something he thought he remembered but couldn't place in his hazy mind.

With a groan he finally crawled onto the bed and collapsed against the pillows.

********************

_Today was his birthday and he was six years old. He was out with his grandmother in the woods, which were part of the Malfoy Estate, and they were playing Pooh-sticks. She had taught him how to play the game the previous summer and they were throwing sticks into the river from one side of the bridge, then rushing to the other side to see whose stick would appear first._

It was always his, Draco remembered. She would join in with his laughter and eagerly wait for the sticks to appear, claiming the first was the one he'd thrown even if it wasn't. She had picked him up with ease, swinging him around and hugging him to her so tightly he couldn't breathe. And he thought she was crying.

In the darkened room, the moon's light had moved now, tracking further across the floor and it no longer touched him. The image in the smoke before him flickered slightly and he reached out a hand to touch it, stroking it back to stillness as the two figures stood entwined on the wooden bridge. He had been such a frail child; 'sickly' one of his aunts had called him, 'not likely to live to manhood' another had often said, and the childhood version of himself rested lightly on his grandmother's hip, his head against her shoulder. She spoke to him from deep within the memory. _Don't fret dearest; you will walk with the light. I've seen it in the stars. The darkness isn't for you._

And she had sung to him. He remembered her voice, heard it now in the stillness of the room. This was the last time she had ever held him, sung to him, talked to him. After his birthday party she had gone to her own home and a month later she was dead.

No more stories. No more Pooh-sticks. No more picking flowers. No more playing.

Playing was for children, his father had told him, and children do not learn magic. She had stopped his father using Dark Magic on him and had brought Draco through his childhood illnesses with light and love. But now she was gone, and it all changed.

********************

"Harry Potter!"

The voice in his dream echoed through Harry's mind.

He knew it was a dream, but it felt so real ... so very real.

He was six years old and it was his birthday.

It was his birthday and they had told him he would have a new bedroom because they needed his old room for someone else. He had followed Uncle Vernon eagerly, wanting to see where he would sleep. In his hands he carried his few possessions in a carrier bag with the word 'Tesco' printed in big red letters over the front.

"Here you are, Harry. A place just for you."

He looked at the door. It was the cupboard under the stairs. He knew where the door led because this was where the dustpan and brush lived ... where he was locked when he was naughty ... and now he was to live there all the time?

A hand pushed between his shoulder blades, shoving him into the room where there was now a little bed. He fell on top of it, the bag squashed beneath him as the door was closed, shutting him into darkness.

"Happy birthday, Harry."

********************

"Damn it, he's awake." Cloud's concentration shifted and he struggled for a moment to hold the image.

A second hand joined his and fingers laced together briefly. "Stick with it. You still have him."

"How can I get into his dreams if he keeps waking up?"

As the image strengthened, Shadow pulled his hand away and carefully added several drops of his own blood into the mixture already coloured red by Cloud's blood. "He will sleep again, you've already made sure of that. Then you can influence his dreams." The voice was reassuring, almost soothing in its tone. "Now, let's see what our other friend is doing."

********************

_He was eight and he was standing in the cold room with tears running down his face. His hands were covered in blood and at his feet was a dead animal. It might have been a fox or a deer or even a dog, but he didn't remember. All he remembered was that he had killed it and now his father's hard stare was full of disdain because of his tears._

Draco had never enjoyed his Dark Arts training, at least not as a child. It was hard and it hurt and he wanted to play, not spend hours in dark places. But the pain and the darkness were made worthwhile because his father spent time with him, was there at his side, his voice quietly reassuring as he took his son through the incantations and intricate procedures.

Until Draco cried.

Then his father would change. He would chastise Draco for his weakness and punish him. Oh, nothing physical -- Draco knew Vincent's father would beat him, but his own father never touched him physically. Lucius' punishments were subtler, more incomprehensible especially for a child to understand.

Lucius would make him do the spell again and again until he got it right and managed it without emotion and fear. Sometimes it would take hours, by which time Draco would be almost too tired and confused to know what he was doing.

Lucius would make him stand for hours utterly still, while his father would walk back and forth telling him what it meant to be a Malfoy, to be pure-blood, to be part of the elite in the Wizarding world.

Draco had a vague recollection of falling asleep once while standing, trying to concentrate on his father's words. He had been aware of toppling to the floor and then trying to scramble back to his feet again hoping against hope that his father might not have seen him. But there had been no admonishments. Instead Lucius had bent down and picked him up, carrying him to his bedroom. He remembered the change in his father's eyes from that of teacher ... hard and fixed -- to parent ... soft and caring. Tender as he waited for his son to fall asleep, gentle words of praise for how well he'd done.

The image of the bloodstained child in the smoke slowly dissolved and was replaced by that of Lucius putting his nine-year-old son to bed.

His beloved father.

Lucius had been the most instrumental person in his life. Lucius was the person who had moulded and shaped him into what he was now. Loyal, forthright, intelligent, capable of almost anything. He had always thought he would follow his father anywhere, even into the very depths of hell.

Until now. Until he realised there was someone else he thought he would rather follow.

Where was that loyalty to his father and family now? Not only had he destroyed the Portkey coin, but also he'd lied to his father about what had happened. His breath hitched as he realised the implications of that action ... of lying to Lucius. His father was the one person he had always been completely honest with. As a child caught doing something wrong, Draco would have lied to everyone from his mother down to the house elves, but never to his father. Lucius would fix him with a stare from eyes so similar to his own, and Draco knew he would tell the truth.

And where was the famous Malfoy loyalty now? Did he really care this much for Harry that he was willing to throw away the past seventeen years of his life for him?

Reaching down, he picked up the emerald, feeling its cold hardness in the palm of his hand. What was he doing with his life? It had always been so ordered and clear. But now...? He realised he was back on that same precipice he had stood on six weeks ago. Still waiting to decide whether to retreat to the comfort of the world he knew or to step into the unknown. If only he had someone to talk to. If only his grandmother was still alive.

Grey eyes suddenly became wide in the gloom. He could do it. Could conjure up her image. Could call her from those other places. He had done it once, just after his 11th birthday and he had been unconscious for days afterwards. But he was more skilled now ... more powerful, and his magic stronger.

She would come, he was sure of that, if he could just find it within himself to use the magic.

Carefully he constructed a further layer around himself, this sixth one created with energy so strong it was almost tangible. He picked up his wand and, holding it like a pencil, began inscribing more symbols around himself. These where much smaller than the rest and he moved in a tight circle, each mark made with careful consideration, each accompanied by the correct incantation. As he returned to his starting position, the circle was completed and he began the complex ritual of _Obtestationis_ -- the Summoning of Spirit.

As he spoke the Words of the Ritual, the symbols inscribed on the floor exploded with light, which shot up to the ceiling, encircling him in a column of brilliance. It arched across the ceiling, connected with the walls of energy he had created and flowed back down to the floor like a waterfall.

Draco sat very still as the light exploded around him. Waiting. Where the beams hit the floor they rippled outward, filling the area between him and the wall with power that moved slowly like white-hot lava across the floor. They rippled back towards him; the bright glow fading as it moved closer, until a dark lake of shimmering energy surrounded him. The column of light slowly dissipated until there was nothing but the gleam of the single candle and the surrounding blackness that moved around him like a living being.

He took a deep breath and then let it out as a single deep sigh into the darkened room. It seemed to go on forever and he wondered if he would ever breathe in again. The candle flickered as his breath touched it, struggling to remain alight. It fluttered briefly, like the movement of his heart at that moment, and then died.

Plunging the room into darkness.

The moonlight had gone now, taking with it the gentle friendly silver that had once pervaded the gloom. All that was left now was the black glimmer of the lake of energy. Iridescent in the descended night, it cast its strange darkness over everything, filling with room with its power.

Then, even that glow dissolved into nothing.

********************

He was nine and he was locked up again.

"Wait till your uncle gets home!"

Aunt Petunia's voice still rang through his head, which hurt from where she had slapped him.

Now he was locked in his cupboard and he sat on the bed, hugging his knees tightly.

She'd taken away his glasses, but that didn't matter because the room was in darkness, a little line of light drifting in from under the door. The light slowly turned to green and it spread around the room, casting a shadow in the corner. The shadow grew, towering over the boy.

Something touched his hand and he let out a little whimper as he cringed back against the wall.

********************

"I have Harry trapped in his dream."

"And Malfoy?"

There was a pause as Cloud's concentration shifted from a room in Gryffindor Tower to one down in the Dungeons. "Oh, he is hurting as much." Cloud's voice showed mirth that was not visible in his eyes as his power touched the candle in the far-distant room, snuffing out the light as easily as if he had been kneeling beside the Slytherin. "Such confusion. I can feel the emotion but I can't get into his thoughts. They are too well shielded. He's trying to Summon someone, an ancestor. He's good but we can tap into this ... he's left himself so open."

"Good." Shadow was on his feet now adding more marks to the symbols on the floor. "It's time to manifest Him."

********************

"Hello, Draco."

The voice was not the one he'd expected. It came out of the darkness, sounding like dark chocolate and smooth silk.

It was not the voice of his grandmother. This was a male voice ... a strong voice.

Draco turned his head, trying to work out which direction the voice was coming from. In the dark, it seemed to be all around him. "Who are you?" His own voice seemed to be sucked up by the night, sounding distant, feeble compared to that of the stranger.

"You Summoned me, Draco. I came at your bidding."

Off to the boy's right a shape, even blacker than the darkness, moved. It stepped forward.

Human shaped.

"No." Draco's fingers reached for his wand, scrabbling at the floor for it. "My grandmother." Fingers closed around the wand, but it vanished even as he made to pick it up. "I Summoned my grandmother." He thought he let out a gasp of surprise.

The shape moved closer, almost gliding over the undulating lake of energy that surrounded Draco. "Well, you have me instead." It moved around, behind the kneeling boy and Draco felt a breath against his neck. "I've come to help you sort out your troubled mind."

Draco felt rather than saw his own wand appear by his shoulder. He was aware of the energy pulsing from it and knew it was his own. It pointed towards the candle, which flared into life again, reflecting off the energy surrounding him. The suddenness of the brilliance after the dark hurt his eyes and he raised a protective arm over his face and made to stand.

But two firm hands held him down.

"Oh no, you stay where you are. This is not a spell for you to break. After all, you've spent all day creating this exquisite setting, it would be a shame to waste it now." The voice was close to his ear, whispering.

"Who are you?" Draco hoped his voice was steady -- neutral. His hands returned to his thighs, gripping at the material of his robes as if the only way to keep his sanity was to hold onto something from the real world. "I have a right to know if I Summoned you."

"In time. All in good time. I will have all your answers, but first I want to look at you and see how you've changed and grown. Take down your hood."

The voice had moved away and Draco looked round. The figure was swathed in red robes so dark that they might have been black and he now stood several feet away towering over the kneeling figure. The face and hands were hidden in the voluminous material. Finally, Draco pulled the hood down, shaking his hair free without thinking.

Silence filled the room and Draco was aware of the other's scrutiny.

"Your father said you had changed since the summer. He's right." 

Draco frowned, trying to see into the cowl of the robes. The figure moved again, coming to a halt in front of him and finally the candlelight illuminated some of the face. He could see the angular plane of the cheekbones, and realised he could have been looking at an older version of Harry.

"Don't you remember me, Draco? I was at the manor last summer. I watched you play Quidditch."

"No...."

"We had tea ... you and I and Alex."

"No...."

"And then before you came back here you knelt at my feet. I asked if you would stand with me. Do you remember your reply?"

"I didn't...." Draco's mouth made the shape of the word but no sound came out. The figure stepped forward a few paces before crouching down in front of the kneeling boy. He pulled down his own hood, revealing a shock of black hair. The eyes that met his were sapphire blue and they glinted jewel-like in the darkness, reminding him again of Harry. Eyes the colour of precious gems. But within these gems Draco thought he saw a gleam of red flash in the depth. And the power emanating from the person was palpable. He recognised it. Remembered it. Feared it. Realising for the first time that this was Voldemort, this handsome man with whom he'd talked earnestly about Quidditch was also the snake-like horror he had knelt before and who filled his mind with nightmares.

The figure smiled as he saw recognition in the wide grey eyes that stared at him. He reached out a hand and brushed a strand of blond hair from Draco's face, smiling as the boy tried not to flinch from his touch. "So you do remember?"

Draco finally managed to regain some semblance of control. His back straightened with an arrogant thrust of his head and he returned the look with his own self-assured expression. "I remember." Unfortunately the tremor in his voice betrayed all the care he had put into his stance.

"Of course you do, my dear Draco. I hear you are troubled. That you've forgotten your words to me and the duty owed to your father. I have come to make sure you choose the right path." With that Tom Riddle rose to his feet and held out a hand. "Come, why don't we go and see the source of your problems."

********************

"I can't do this...." Cloud stumbled back from the candle, arms wrapping around his head as it threatened to explode. "... He's too powerful ... too strong...." He curled into a ball, whimpering in pain. "Help me...." One hand reached towards Shadow, the fingers a claw of tension.

Shadow gathered the boy in his arms, and dragged him into a sitting position. "Hush, you are channelling a very powerful being. Stop fighting it and the pain will go away."

Gulping for breath, the redhead leaned into the person holding him. God, he hurt all over, and he could feel the power ... the very essence that made David the person he was ... pouring into his body. The Dark Lord couldn't get through the castle's wards ... at least not yet ... but Cloud could give him access. And once David was within Hogwarts, he could move around at will. Cloud had done this before, but this time it was different ... almost overwhelming in its intensity.

He took a shuddering breath. David's life force was currently with Malfoy, but he could feel it moving, travelling like a ghost through the very fabric of the castle to another place.

********************

The room was one Draco had never been to before. There were no lighted candles, but the moon flooded in through the windows, illuminating the tiny space with silver light, touching the furnishings with its diamond brilliance. It was smaller than his room, but Draco suddenly realised that size wasn't everything -- the light spilling in through the windows was beautiful.

At first he wasn't aware of the colour of the curtains around the small four-poster bed. The moonlight turned everything into black and white, leaching the colour. Then he realised they were red and gold ... splashes of blood and amber in the silver.

"Where are we?" he finally whispered, aware of Voldemort's hand gripping his shoulder.

"Don't you know?"

Of course he knew. Even without seeing the face of the figure sprawled on the bed, he knew it was Harry. But he wouldn't say it ... not to this man. "It's a Gryffindor room," was all he finally replied. He suddenly realised that Harry wasn't _in_ bed, but rather on top of the blankets, still in the clothes he'd worn all day. A frown of concern flickered across his face.

"Come now, Draco. You are cleverer than that. Tell me whose room." 

The fingers dug into the boy's shoulder and it felt like they were tipped with steel points. Draco tried no to flinch at the pain. "Harry Potter's room."

"Good boy." The grip loosened a little. "Now I want to show you something, Draco. You need to see the Boy Who Lived for what he really is. See, and remember."

"I...."

"I suggest you remain silent until I tell you to speak, boy."

Draco swallowed; grimacing as the fingers dug into him again and he remained silent as Voldemort pointed towards a darkened corner where the shadow of the bed cut off the light from the windows. It took his eyes a moment to adjust and what he first thought was a bundle of clothes, condensed into a figure.

It was a small child, huddled in the corner, knees drawn up to its chest and arms wound tightly about them. Draco couldn't see the child's face, because it was resting on those upturned knees and curtained by a veil of jet-black messy hair.

Harry? His lips moved, but the word was silent as he stepped closer, unaware that the hand had finally left his shoulder. The little boy lifted his head as though he'd heard his name, dark hair spilling over his face, and the moonlight glinted in the green eyes, turning them silver. A fist scrubbed at an eye as he tried to brush away tears and he let out a little hiccup of a sob before resting his head back onto his knees again.

Draco realised he'd stopped breathing and when he filled his lungs, the sob matched Harry's. It was the Gryffindor ... down to the mismatched oversized clothes. But this Harry could be no more than nine or ten ... the boy before he knew he was a wizard. Draco stared at the child; surprised at the sudden urge he felt to protect the boy, to wipe away his tears.

"Why are you showing me this?"

"Because you need to know who Potter really is. This is what they are pinning all their hopes on, Draco. A scared little boy with no particular magical gifts who should have died as a baby. He is nothing, Draco, nothing but what you see now. Inside the grownup is this child. Nothing but a snivelling scared little brat of no consequence to anyone."

Voldemort spun Draco from the image of Harry and his fingers grabbed at the blond's face, forcing him to make eye contact. "Is that what you want to tie yourself to? A weak snivelling child who can't even save himself, let alone anyone else?"

"I...." Fingers tightened in Draco's hair, pulling painfully on the strands.

"If you want to fuck him, then go ahead. He has nothing else to offer anyone. But, dear Draco, if you dare to consider cheating me, I will rip you to pieces." Voldemort pulled on Draco's hair, forcing his head to one side. "You are pledged to me. You are alive because I saved your miserable existence when you were a year old. All your magical powers are gifts from me and without them do you know what you would have been?"

Draco gasped as the hold on his hair forced him to his knees and when Voldemort crouched in front of him, the sapphire blue eyes were filled with red fire.

"Without me you would have been a squib, Draco. Nothing but a magickless squib. Just remember that because what I gave to you I can easily take back."

********************

He woke up on the floor of his room. He knew it was his room because he recognised the furniture and the fire burning in the grate. Rolling over onto his back, Draco looked at the ceiling, and even recognised the cracks in the plasterwork from the hours he'd spent staring at it in the past.

His own innocuous little room in the Dungeons, with its tiny window overlooking the broad sweep of grass leading down to the lake. His room where he'd been doing Dark Magic. But there was no sign of what he had done. No marks on the floor, no blood on his robe ... no robe...

No Voldemort.

He could remember everything, but had it been real? Had the Dark Lord been here or was it some sort of illusion? It felt real enough, he could still feel the pain in his shoulder from Voldemort's grip. But for the Dark Lord to actually be here in this room would mean he could get through all the school's wards with ease and would mean he had free rein to wander through the school whenever he wanted.

Draco's fingers reached for the place where he could feel the imprint of the hand like an icy coldness on his skin. As he touched it, the words Voldemort had hissed at him came crashing back ... _Nothing but a magickless squib._

It couldn't be true ... just couldn't be. But hadn't everyone said he was a sickly baby? What if by 'sickly' they'd meant devoid of any innate magic? Draco could feel the magic within him now ... his connection with the enchanted world linking him to all other magical beings.

Draco Malfoy, a squib who only had magic because of the benevolence of Lord Voldemort.

He didn't think he could bear it. If Voldemort took this away from him he would be no better than Filch or Granger's parents. Even Longbottom would have more magic than he did. It couldn't be true. Just couldn't be.

And what about Harry? He'd seen Harry's magic ... felt the power emanating from him. If it turned out that Draco was nothing more than a powerless Muggle, would the Gryffindor still want him? Or would Harry just toss him away like some useless rag?

With some difficulty, Draco reached for his wand and got to his feet, swaying a little with vertigo from rising too quickly. If Voldemort was telling him the truth, then the Dark Lord didn't leave him many options. The warning was quite clear and the consequences of disobedience obvious. Draco crossed to his desk, flexing his arm as he walked in an attempt to get some warmth and movement back into his shoulder joint. It felt like it was encased in ice and where the tips of Voldemort's fingers had held him, as thought frozen spikes had been driven into his flesh.

Sitting at the desk, he finally unbuttoned his shirt, and eased it off the shoulder. The shape of a hand had been burned into his skin, purple against his own paleness, and where fingernails had dug into him, fresh blood pooled. Draco swallowed painfully and touched one of the cuts. The blood was frozen, and flaked away as he scraped a nail across it. Dark magic ... he could feel the way it poured through his body and gave a bitter laugh. So much for all the protection he'd placed around the room earlier.

His hand was trembling with exhaustion and apprehension as he retrieved a small leather pouch from one of the desk drawers and unrolled it on the desk. Little crystal phials each filled with liquid glinted in the candlelight and after careful consideration he selected three. The first he drank straight down, the effects of the potion so immediate that he let out an audible sigh of relief as the warmth spread from his stomach through his body. The second was sprinkled over the wound on his shoulder. It prickled painfully on contact, but he knew that it would soothe the injury and bring movement back to the joint.

The third he put on the desk in front of him. Then, placing the handle of his wand on the phial, he intoned a charm and as the last word of the complicated stanza left his mouth, he pressed down hard. There was an audible 'pop' as the crystal gave way against the pressure of his wand, and for a moment the crystal and wand became fused. The magic washed over him in an all-pervading wave of energy, which cleansed away the darkness and he sat for a moment soaking up the light. He knew he would pay for the use of that particular potion later, but the relief it gave him from the darkness left by Voldemort was worth it.

Worth it to show Voldemort that he wasn't a squib ... he could do magic, and not just everyday magic either. It had taken him the best part of a year to acquire the ingredients, weeks to learn the incantation and days to make the potion. The fact it worked so well brought a smile to his lips and he let his eyes close as all three potions worked their way through his body and soul, easing both the physical and emotional anguish.

Tomorrow he would arrange to see Harry. Tomorrow he would worry about Voldemort. But for now he just wanted to rest.

A second audible pop brought Draco back to reality with a jolt. His wand clutched tightly in his hand, he came to his feet, the chair crashing backwards to the floor. _"Lumos."_ The spell lighted the room and with adrenalin pumping, he spun round, trying to find out who, or what, had made the noise.

Nothing ... nothing at all.

Trying to calm his fast-beating heart, Draco reached for the chair and pulled it upright. He rubbed a hand over his eyes. "Sleep. I need to sleep," he murmured and slumped back onto the chair. But first he needed to tidy away his potions. If anyone saw what he had in the pouch...

His hand stilled as it touched the desk and he realised what had made the popping sound. Standing on the desk, furling its silver wings against its body was a perfectly formed three-inch-tall dragon. It looked up at him with its mother-of-pearl eyes and let out a yowl followed by a little puff of flame.

Draco blinked at the creature in surprise. "Draconis?" He reached out a finger to the little toy Welsh Green and let it climb onto his hand. Then, leaning back, he let the creature rest on his arm. "You've chosen a good time to decide to come home."

His grandmother had given him the toy for his second birthday, and he'd always been very attached to it, almost to the point of obsession. It wasn't until years later that he'd found out that what he believed to be a marvellous toy actually acted as a movable ward spell ... whenever he had Draconis with him, he was surrounded by extra protection charms. It was also supposed to let the 'protector' know if there was a problem with the 'protected'. He had often wondered how his grandmother had known when he was in trouble and it was when his mother had let slip what the toy dragon really was that he had discovered the truth.

When his grandmother died, the special charmed ties she'd placed on the dragon had been broken, and it reverted to just an expensive toy, but Draco had kept it as a lasting reminder of the woman who'd loved him. It had been taken away from him on several occasions as a punishment, but the dragon had always somehow found its way back to him no matter what spells others put on it.

So when Draco had given it to Harry on Valentines Day, he'd expected Draconis to delight the Gryffindor and the reaction in those green eyes had been everything he'd wanted to see. Harry's childlike enchantment in the toy and then the way he'd looked across the Great Hall after receiving the gift had caused a wonderful warmth to build inside Draco.

But the dragon hadn't returned to Draco as he'd expected. It had always returned to him in the past when he'd left it lying around some place at the mansion or when visiting people, so why hadn't it come back this time? He knew the toy was still in Harry's room because occasionally one of the other Gryffindors would mention it. Harry had never said a word about the dragon though, and Draco would have occasional fits of pique at Draconis for not wanting to be with him. Of course, Draco could have asked for the toy back, but there was no way he was going snivelling to Harry and having to explain its significance.

As he looked down at the creature now, he wondered whether the danger he'd been in earlier with Voldemort had somehow alerted the protection wards in the dragon. Or maybe it had been the disastrous Summoning spell and Draconis' return was his grandmother's way of telling him she had been around after all.

The mother-of-pearl eyes still watched Draco, and he was surprised that the dragon hadn't settled on his arm like it normally did. Then, it suddenly nipped his finger.

"Ouch!" Draco's hand pulled back and the little dragon took to the air, wings flapping as it hovered in front of him and yowled again. "What was that for?" Blood seeped from a little pinprick puncture wound and he quickly sucked at it while glaring at the creature. "If that's what being with Potter has done to you, you're not leaving this room again."

The air around the dragon seemed to flutter with the movement of its wings and a clear image coalesced in Draco's mind. It was that of a scared little boy and the broken body of its real-life counterpart on the bed.

Grey eyes widening, Draco suddenly realised that what he'd seen in Harry's room hadn't been a dream or an illusion. Voldemort ... or someone ... had done something to Harry.

********************

Chest heaving, Draco stood just inside the Gryffindor common room. Typical Gryffindors, not bothering to change their password even though they knew others were aware of it. The room was empty and he padded across it towards the stairs that had to lead to the dormitories. Part of him wanted to go find Granger, but then he'd have to explain yet again that Harry was in danger because of something he'd done. Just over a week ago he'd come to her because Harry had collapsed. What the hell would she say and do if he told her Voldemort had paid a clandestine visit to Saint Potter?

The seventh-year dormitory was clearly marked and he pushed the door open, stepping into the little room. There was a sofa in front of a fireplace and five curtained doorways. He recognised the slouched figure of Longbottom seated at a little table, and wondered for a moment what schoolwork kept the boy awake so late. Draco raised his hand and made to intone a confusion charm, but Draconis had fluttered down to rest on Longbottom's book.

"Hi there." Neville tickled the creature with his finger, oblivious to the fact that someone was creeping around the room behind him. "Looking for Harry?" The dragon blew a little puff of smoke and shook its head. "Sorry, can't help you there -- he's not been around all evening."

The dragon flew away and disappeared through one of the curtained doorways. Draco quickly slipped passed the curtain into a room that exuded emptiness and found himself where Voldemort had brought him earlier. Draconis settled on his shoulder, suddenly digging its claws into the already tender flesh. With a hiss of pain, Draco paused at the creature's warning.

"What is it?" he spoke sotto voce to the dragon. It had often warned him of danger in the past, but not since his grandmother had died. Cautiously, he stepped forward, his wand now outstretched in front of him; it connected with something that felt like the air had thickened and almost solidified. Now he realised why the room had felt empty ... someone had put barrier spells around it so that people would think Harry was elsewhere.

Taking a breath, Draco pushed through them and was almost bowled over by what assaulted him. First was the feeling of Harry's presence. The distinct lack of it on the other side of the barrier made its sudden presence now almost overwhelming. Then there was the cold ... a chill that turned his breath to little puffs of whiteness as he breathed out and froze his lungs as he breathed in.

He shivered, absently pulling his robes closer. The movement stopped as he heard the noise ... a low sob of pain as Harry tried to call out for help ... and he wondered why Longbottom didn't hear his friend. Then he realised ... of course ... there was a silencing spell as well. Whoever had planned this attack had made sure Harry would not be found or helped in his pain.

Yes, pain. Draco could almost feel the pain ripping into him as he stepped towards the bed where he could make out the shape of Harry lying prone. This was no longer the image of the little boy cowering in the corner, but the real life teenager. "Harry?" Draco's voice was a whisper.

The boy let out a little whimper and tried to move ... tried to turn away. "No."

"Harry..." The dragon took off and settled on the bedside table, and Draco perched gently on the edge of the bed, concern clouding his features as he reached out to touch the dark-haired boy. "Look at me."

"Can't. Go away." His voice was hoarse with pain ... as if he'd been calling for help for some time.

"Harry, please, I need you to tell me what's wrong." He reached for the dark head, pushing the messy strands of hair from the boy's eyes. "Please, let me help you. I need to know."

"Not like this." Harry tried to curl into a ball, as though making himself smaller than he had ever been, like he was hiding in the dark corner Voldemort had put him in. But the movement seemed too much, as though it sent shafts of pain ripping through his already damaged body. "Don't want you to see me like this." The words were hissed, through clenched teeth.

"You need help. I'm going to get someone." Draco started to get up, but Harry's fingers gripped at his wrist.

"No. No one else. On the table. In the wrapper."

Following the whispered instruction, Draco saw a little square of folded parchment next to Draconis. He managed to get Harry to let go of him and quickly picked it up. Inside was a fine powder and simple instructions -- _Mix with water. Drink._ He raised a questioning eyebrow, but filled the glass from a small water pitcher and poured in the contents of the packet. The powder dissolved almost instantly, leaving the water clear. Returning to the bed, he helped Harry up and held the glass to his lips. "Come on, drink it."

The glass emptied, Harry fell back against Draco's shoulder and let out a shuddering sigh. "Thank you."

"Can you move?" The head on his shoulder moved slightly in a little nod. "I'm going to take your clothes off." He thought Harry managed a smile.

"I'm not feeling that well." Harry's voice trembled slightly, shivering from the cold

Draco snorted. "Piss off, Potter." The words were gentle, though, and laying the boy back onto the bed, he started unfastening buttons, surprised at his own tenderness. Harry was still clearly in pain, and he whimpered as Draco pushed his shirt from his shoulders. "What happened?"

"I get them ... dreams ... sometimes." Harry moved so Draco could get his shirt off. "They ... I have headaches from them. What are you doing here?"

Draco realised he couldn't meet Harry's eyes. Did Harry know that Voldemort was responsible for his current pain? He glanced at the dragon. "Draconis let me know something was wrong."

Harry's little snort of surprise made him cough painfully and Draco held onto him until it had passed. "Draconis is some sort of rescue dragon?" His voice was husky.

"Ask me in the morning."

Lifting his hips, Harry let Draco slip his jeans off. "You'll have to rename it 'Lassie'."

Draco met the green eyes and within the pain he could see a trace of humour. "Lassie?" He pulled back the sheets and managed to get the nearly naked boy covered.

"Ummm. 'What's that, Lassie? ... Timmy's trapped in the old mind shaft...'." Harry's attempt at an American accent was completely lost on the other wizard. He gave a weak smile. "Ask me in the morning." 

"I don't think I want to know, Potter."

"I'm so cold." Harry clutched the sheets to him.

Draco reached for a bedspread, which had been folded at the foot of the bed. He knew the room was freezing and realised it was yet another spell. Whoever was responsible had not only been thorough, but also quite vindictive. If Harry had been left in this cold all night, he would probably have been hypothermic by the morning. It took Draco a moment to muster enough power to break through the spells, but when he did it was like summer warmth spilling into the room. "I'm going to get some blankets."

"No, don't go ... please." Hands clutched at him.

The grip was tight and for a moment Draco studied Harry's hand. "Okay, I'm not going anywhere." Quickly he stripped off his own clothes and, scrambling under the covers, pulled Harry towards him. The boy gave a little whimper and Draco was reminded of the scared little boy Voldemort had shown him.

He'd been shown Harry like that because Voldemort believed that seeing the hero of the Wizarding world as a helpless child would make Draco detest him. People saw the Gryffindor as a powerful saviour, but Draco saw him as ... well ... Harry, and maybe that was the difference. Because he never expected Harry to be some sort of powerful demigod, seeing him as a helpless child had the opposite affect. As he held Harry now, all he wanted to do was protect him from the dangers that awaited them both.

And that, in itself, surprised him. He'd been through a whole raft of emotions regarding Harry over the past weeks, from hatred to desire, back to hatred again and ending somewhere close to ... well, could he call it love? Draco pursed his lips at the very thought. That was _not _a route he cared to travel down at this moment. 

Yet he was here, when all his good sense told him that he should be safely tucked away in his own room. Obeying his father. Preparing to follow Voldemort.

He felt Harry snuggle against him, the warmth of his own skin chasing the chill from Harry's body. Carefully he curled an arm around Harry's shoulder and began to gently stroke Harry's temple. Fingertips grazed over the raised skin of the scar and at the contact with the mark, he pulled his hand away.

"No, don't..."

"What?" The word was whispered against the dark hair.

"That was nice. It stops the pain."

"What? This?" Draco stroked across the scar again, his touch feather-like.

"Ummm. It hurts when Voldemort is around ... when I dream about him. But what you're doing stops the pain."

"Okay. Then I'll keep doing it."

Harry sighed against Draco's skin, the little hot breath ghosting over his collarbone. "Don't go. Stay with me tonight."

Draco's breath hitched at the request and he knew ... finally knew what he wanted.

"I'm not going anywhere, Harry. I've got you. I've got..." Draco leaned closer, his arms tightening around the shivering form. "...you."

-------------------------------------------------------

_I wish I could be like a bird in the sky  
How sweet it would be if I found I could fly  
Well I'd soar to the sun and look down at the sea  
And I'd sing cos I know how it feels to be free  
  
One love but we're not the same  
We got to carry each other Carry each other  
  
I knew how it would feel to be free_

(I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel To Be) Free/One -- Lighthouse Family

-------------------------------------------------------

**Chapter 7: The Art of Protection:** Ron gets in deeper. Snape makes demands. Harry gets artistic. Draco submits. Birthday presents 

-------------------------------------------------------

**Special thanks**

**To my Betas (in alphabetical order):** **_Alex, Milena, Olivia, Nancy, Plumeria, Stacey_** and **_Tara._** These people have been patient, supportive and without them the chapter would never have gotten finished. _Special mention_ must go to **Zed** and **Milena** for their help with plotting, for listening to me wibble and for their endless patience.

**To everyone at LiveJournal** who have answered my stupid questions over the last few months

**To everyone on at Worlds_Colliding** for their continued support and inspiration.

**To everyone who has reviewed or commented on previous chapters.** Even though I don't get the chance to respond to them all, please know that I do read and appreciate every one.

A comment made during a conversation with **Zed Adams** and her hilarious ficlet "Ron's Daymare" was the inspiration for Hermione's idea of _"Ron and house-elves"_ (snigger). The story is part of Zed's "A Basket of Rotten Citrus Collection" and can be found here: 

**Artwork:** I am very lucky to have several new pieces of artwork drawn for this chapter. They are linked in the appropriate places throughout the chapter. If the links don't work, then try for further links.

**Bhanesidhe's artwork:** Ron in distress, Harry and Hermione, Draco and Hedwig.

**Milena's artwork:** Little Harry, Draco Dabbling, Draco's Portrait.

By **TaraDiane and midgewood58: **Green Eyes. This photo manip uses an image of Daniel Radcliffe, which is one of my favourites of him. Tara and Midgewood58 added the green eyes and the scar. Take note of the hairstyle Dan has in this photo ... it is very much how Hermione cuts Harry's hair in Resolution Chapter 6!

_There are two Yahoo groups associated with my stories: _

The adult group for Resolution can be found at: Worlds_Colliding: The Restricted Section

The general group can be found at Worlds_Colliding. The R-rated version of Resolution and my non-slash story Coming of Age can be found here.

Any reviews are more than welcome, either here on the Fiction Alley Board (click on review), to me at frances.potter@worlds-colliding.co.uk or feel free to post your comments at Worlds_Colliding.


	7. Come Undone

**Title: Resolution. Chapter 7: Come Undone (7/?)**

**Author name:** Frances Potter

**Author email:** frances.potter@worlds-colliding.co.uk

**Category:** Slash (Harry/Draco), Humour, Romance, Angst

**Keywords:** Harry, Draco, 7th year, Slash

**Spoilers: **All books

**Rating:** R. Slash. Male/Male sexual relationship. Language. Adult themes.

**Summary:**  
_res·o·lu·tion, noun -- solving of doubts, problems, questions etc. The Concise Oxford Dictionary_  
When you've spent six years fighting evil, all you really want is a quiet time. But when your name is Harry Potter the chances of that are very slim. Exams, friends, lovers, enemies, Quidditch, birthdays, the war and Draco all conspire to make Harry's final six months very, very complicated and the end of term a long way off. Slash (Harry/Draco)

**Chapter 7: **Come Undone. "This is nice." "What is?" "Being here. Waking up with you and everything else."

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

The concept of Earth magic and seeing stones are both based loosely on ideas in "The Amtrak Wars" books by Patrick Tilley (published by Sphere).

**Dedication:  
**To **Taradiane**, for being such a kind and generous person, who has always been there for me. Happy birthday to you.

**Author's note:** _Resolution_ was started before the publication of _Order of the Phoenix _and is based on the canon of PS/SS, CoS, PoA and GoF. While certain canon facts from _OotP_ will be incorporated in the story (such as spells and locations), the events of Harry's 5th year in _Resolution_ are **NOT** the same as those in **OotP**.

Amongst other things, _Resolution_ makes the following assumptions: 1. Sirius Black is alive. 2. Voldemort's return at the end of GoF is not common knowledge to the Wizarding world and many people, including the Ministry of Magic still refuse to believe it. 3. Lucius Malfoy is still considered to be a pillar of the community and any connections he might have with the Dark Lord remain a secret. 4. Draco Malfoy was never picked as a prefect. 5. Wizards love to ski! 6. Wizards come of age at 18.

------------------------------

_An insincere and evil friend is more to be feared than a wild beast; a wild beast may wound your body, but an evil friend will wound your mind._ --Buddha 

------------------------------

Chapter 7: Come Undone 

**_The Past ... Saturday 7th October 1995 ... Moonrise ... _**

The creature cowered in the only dark corner of the room. Naked, filthy, it raked long dirty fingernails over the damp stone in a pathetic attempt at trying to dig its way into the wall. Sporadically it would whimper, whether in pain or in fear it wasn't clear, but it would look at its captors and plead with a voice rough from screaming.

Lucius Malfoy kept as far away from the creature as the room would allow. He looked at it with disdain and would occasionally hold a handkerchief in front of his nose as if to ward off the smell. As it howled again, a nervous tic in Lucius' cheek spasmed and he hissed under his breath, "Shut up!" If anyone found out what was going on in his house, there would be hell to pay. The idiots from the Ministry were on his back all the time now even though most people still refused to believe what Potter had told them about Voldemort's return. It didn't help that the foolish boy had recognised his voice when he'd spoken to The Dark Lord in the Little Hangleton Cemetery. 

Why couldn't Potter just drop dead? It would certainly save them all a lot of trouble.

And he certainly wouldn't have to put up with this half-human thing in his keeping.

"Master! Please be careful." Lucius' voice was suddenly shrill with concern as the only other person in the room crouched down beside the creature, which whimpered again as it shrank away.

The young man glanced over his shoulder at Lucius and smiled. "Don't concern yourself, Lucius. Our friend here won't hurt me." Turning his attention back to the creature, Tom Riddle reached his long fingers towards its head, patting it fondly as though it were a treasured pet. "You know I can stop the pain, don't you?"

Brown eyes looked pleadingly at the young man, a hand reflexively reaching out to him. "Please...." The single word came out as a pitiful whine.

"Soon, little one ... very soon." Riddle came to his feet and turned his back on the creature. "Full moon is tomorrow?" The question was directed at Lucius, his features losing the kindness of a few moments before.

Lucius nodded. "Yes, and we've held it in this half-transformed state since the last one."

"And you kept him in his fully-transformed state for the previous moon cycle?"

"Yes. The potions worked exactly as you predicted, my Lord."

Arching an eyebrow, Riddle's eyes flashed red briefly before returning to sapphire blue. "Did you ever doubt me, Lucius?" He stepped closer, an ominous presence in the room despite the fact he was no taller than the man who looked old enough to be his father. In reality it was Riddle who was the elder, but when he had been reborn four months earlier he had chosen this image of his former self as that which he wished to show the world. One day ... soon ... it would no longer be an illusion but a reality.

"Of course not. But this -- thing -- is already non-human. To try and tame it seems to be a waste of time."

Riddle reached out a hand, resting it on Lucius' shoulder. "He is not an 'it', my friend. He is a Child of the Shadows and you will show him due respect." The fingers tightened, digging into flesh and Lucius flinched against the hold. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master."

"Good." The relentless hold kept its tight grip. "This man is going to be my secret weapon, Lucius. He's part of Dumbledore's little secret circle and soon he will be my spy. We mustn't forget that his loyalty to me will become unwavering because of the potion." Blue eyes fixed on Lucius. "You have been giving it to him personally, I hope. I would be very, very angry if I found out that you'd delegated such a vital task to some underling."

********************

**_The Present ... Sunday 15th March 1998 ... 6am ... Gryffindor Tower_**

It was the cramp in his left calf that finally woke Harry from his slumber.

Still half asleep, he scrambled from under the warm blankets and began hobbling around the room, cursing under his breath. In the darkness, his foot caught on the edge of the carpet and he stumbled back against one of the posts supporting the curtained canopy of his bed. The bed shook under the onslaught and he grabbed for the curtain. The loops fastening it to the rail popped loose and Harry dropped unceremoniously to the floor.

"Shit." The word was a hiss of pain as he struggled from the enveloping confines of the curtain and he shifted slightly to rub at his arse. Cramp rippled through his calf again and he gripped at it, trying to massage out the pain. "Shit!"

As the pain finally began to dissipate, Harry leaned back against the bed and stretched out his legs in front of him, toes flexing back and forth. Across the room, the square of the window was a lighter grey against the black night and he remained still, content for the moment to just watch the space where the first light of dawn would soon start colouring the sky. The window was one of the joys of this room and he would often wake just before dawn and watch the sky lighten, waves of colour streaking across its expanse, or sit at his desk in the late afternoon hours and gaze at the rain clouds in all their angry beauty when he should be studying.

He remembered with vivid clarity standing at that window many weeks ago watching as the snow covered the grounds and coated the trees. The pain of the months before ... what had happened to Ron and what Harry had done to the Death Eater who had attacked them ... had all closed in to the point where he knew he couldn't bear to stay at Hogwarts for the New Year celebrations. Gathering up his books, he had disappeared to the quiet seclusion of Hagrid's cottage.

Harry gave a little snort at the memory. Quiet seclusion. If he'd known how going to the cottage would change his life, would he have stayed here at school and danced away the night with everyone else? Would he change anything he'd done since?

Especially what he'd done with Draco?

After what had happened at the Burrow the previous summer, he'd wondered if he would feel anything again, wondered if he would _want_ to feel again, but Draco had changed that. Despite everything, it had been his difficult relationship with Draco that had somehow made life seem worth living again.

That it should be a relationship with Draco, of all people, that made things more manageable never ceased to amaze Harry. After all, it wasn't as if he didn't have friends or admirers ... some of whom had made it quite clear just how friendly they'd like to get, but none of them had the same appeal as Draco. There was something about the relative happiness his relationship with Draco brought him that made it somehow easier to cope with many of the things he was having to keep secret. Such as what Dumbledore had told him about the prophecy and Earth Magic.

He shivered a little, and almost without thinking, pulled the edge of the curtain around him. The dawn was chilly and Harry was sure there was a frost. It took a moment for the fact he was naked to sink into his still sleepy brain and his arms moved reflexively around himself, rubbing absently at his goose pimpled skin. Memories of the cold from the previous night permeated him, coming back with resounding clarity and in the gloom Harry once again felt the same dark shadows that had forced their way into his dreams, wrapping around him. The shivers became stronger as the recollection of those dreams sped through his mind, each ending in a flash of green and a throaty laugh.

Harry clutched at his knees, huddling them close for comfort and warm. He had recognised the laugh even though it wasn't the high cackling sound that had plagued his dreams as a child. It belonged to Voldemort. The resurrected Voldemort who could look like Tom Riddle -- who pretended to be David Morrello -- who had been here, in Harry's room, gloating over the pain being inflicted on the boy who had survived every attack on him since that first one nearly eighteen years ago.

The darkness closed around him, a suffocating pressure forcing a sound like a wounded sob from deep inside. He hurt. Hurt deep inside in a place he couldn't describe or find, and the pain overflowed until it felt like he was clothed in it -- as if the long hand of the Dark Lord was clutching at his heart.

Desperate for light in the darkness, Harry raised his hand towards the bedside table, mouthing the words that would light the little sphere resting there. The glow within the little globe steadily increased until Harry's hand dropped back to his side, the soft light chasing back both the real shadows and those deep in his soul. He whispered another spell and the sphere drifted to his hand and he held it there, the glow reflecting off his skin and hair, forming a small bubble of safety within the room that didn't feel like his own anymore.

His hand dropped to the ground, fingers releasing the sphere, which rolled a few feet away, and Harry let his head fall back to rest on the bed. He felt as though Voldemort had thrown him over a cliff and he was falling into an abyss. No one wanted to save him. They kept telling him he was special, that he was gifted, that he'd destroyed Voldemort and survived. But there was no one reaching out to him ... no lifeline waiting to haul him to safety when it all went wrong.

He didn't know how long he'd been sitting there, wrapped untidily in the curtain, when he felt fingers pushing gently into his hair, rousing him from thoughts he'd rather not consider. Harry thought he recognised the touch, but knew it couldn't be him -- not here, not now -- and he contemplated whether he might have fallen asleep and was dreaming again.

The touch tightened, pulling gently, and Harry's instinctive reaction was to flinch away, the response deep-rooted after the long years he'd lived with the Dursleys. Harry's hair was always a target for all three of his relatives and they had made a habit of using it to hold him in place during whatever punishment they deemed appropriate. On several occasions, Dudley had pulled the black strands out in clumps, while Vernon would anchor Harry to the spot with his big podgy hands grasping at him, occasionally reinforcing his message by banging Harry's head against the nearest wall. As for Petunia, she would take hold of just a few hairs and yank, or if they were out in public together she would tug his hair in an attempt to keep his scar covered.

But it wasn't so much what she did to him that hurt Harry, but what she _didn't _do. He used to watch the way she would pet and preen Dudley, brushing a strand of hair from his face or maybe just tidying it, and would smirk because Dudley always wanted to get away from his mother's attentions. Harry would feel elated that he didn't have to put up with Petunia's ministrations or Dudley's hair cream. But afterwards, that elation would slowly fade and he would wish that just once Petunia might look at him with the expression she used on Dudley and push at his hair in affection. He used to wonder what it felt like to have a mother's hand push through his fringe or a father's fingers ruffle his hair, and he would pretend. Sitting in his dark cupboard he would pretend he could feel those hands in his hair and try to grab hold of a memory from before his parents died. 

But this was Hogwarts, not Privet Drive, he reminded himself, and he knew it wasn't a dream. The fingers gently pushing though his hair were real, and he wasn't scared. He looked up ... up from the abyss ... and in the half-light reflected by the little sphere, he could make out the pale ghostly features of the person reaching down to him.

Draco. Here. In his bed.

The thought was like a balm and as the fingers moved, stroking through the tussled hair to the zigzag scar on Harry's forehead, he knew he was no longer afraid ... or alone. One finger slowly traced back and forth along the raised skin before moving to lingering lightly on Harry's neck. He leaned into the touch, his earlier fears drifting away at the intimate contact. "Draco?" Harry reached to touch the hand caressing his neck, his fingers closing around Draco's little finger.

"Are you going to stay down there?" The voice was husky with sleep.

"Draco." This time there was no question as Harry, his own voice croaky, repeated the name. "What..." a little cough as he let go of Draco's finger. He felt confused, as if the darkness of the room had filtered into his mind, stripping away his memory. "What are you doing here?" The pale features seemed to be a little clearer now, and Harry thought he saw something in the grey eyes. Was it hesitation or maybe just sleepiness?

"Sleeping. It's too cold to sit on the floor. Come back to bed." Draco tugged gently on Harry's hair and then smoothed it again before disappearing from view.

Hesitating briefly, Harry rose to his feet and stood for a moment, leaning on the bedpost, watching as Draco crawled back up the bed, all long legs and taut buttocks. He disappeared under the covers, blond hair spread untidily on Harry's pillows, and his grey gaze held Harry's as he flipped back the edge of the blankets on the other side of the bed. Then in a whisper, he repeated his previous words.

"Come back to bed."

Green eyes drifted from Draco's face, and what had happened the previous night leapt back into the clear focus. Draco had rescued him from Voldemort, easing away the pain in his head and the chill in his body. Draco had stayed with him and was now inviting Harry back into the warmth of the bed ... Harry's bed, in Harry's room, and he felt like Draco was claiming everything about him.

He felt nervous ... unsure. He was naked in his own room and Draco was in his bed. Not only that, but Harry knew he was beginning to flush under Draco's scrutiny and that look was leading to the warm feeling of arousal and need condensing deep inside. Eyes flickered to the curtain that separated his room from the little common room shared with his fellow seventh-year Gryffindors. The curtain had never seemed so flimsy before and he was sure his own hearing had become acutely hypersensitive. Could he really hear his friends sleeping?

The green gaze returned to the slightly hazy figure in his bed. He'd slept in Draco's bed and woken up beside him, but this felt different. They had fallen into that bed in the heat of passion and that had felt like he had no control over what happened, but here he was with all the choices in the world -- no passion, no need, just the warmth of someone else close to him. He could even tell Draco to leave if he wanted. In fact he could think of a million reasons why the Slytherin shouldn't be here. But there was just one reason why he should be, and Harry knew exactly what that was. Draco was there because he wanted to be and Harry knew that was the only thing that mattered.

He climbed back onto the narrow bed and pulled the covers over his body.

The two boys lay on their sides facing each other, but as far apart as the bed would allow. Harry still shivered a little from the chill of the room, and he huddled down under the blankets, grateful for the warmth. They watched each other in silence and it was Harry who finally broke it.

"You're right, it is cold." His voice was a murmur as he tugged the blankets up around his neck. He inched a little closer to the warmth radiating from Draco's body.

"What happened?"

Harry could feel the puff of breath from Draco's words on his skin. "What happened when?"

"Just now ... when you jumped out of bed and ripped down the curtain."

It was hard not to scramble over those last few inches into the waiting arms. "I got a cramp.

"Oh."

"I didn't mean to wake you up." Harry was aware of Draco shifting slightly. Draco hadn't moved closer, but the sheets billowed around him, and his long slim fingers were now filling the space between them, the tips grazing Harry's stomach before flattening against the mattress.

"You didn't."

"Umm, actually...." Harry shifted his head on the pillow. Draco's mouth was very close and even in the half-light without his glasses; he could see the pale features clearly. "I didn't realise you were here."

"Don't you remember what happened last night?"

Harry didn't respond for a moment; his whole world had suddenly narrowed to focus on the quiet words Draco had just whispered and the movement of his mouth. It wasn't what Draco had actually said but the tone he'd used. The softly spoken words seemed to vibrate in the space between them and he didn't realise that he'd raised a finger to those lips until he actually touched them. He pulled it away, letting his hand drop to the pillow, fingertips just touching Draco's cheek. 

"Some of it." Harry frowned, the events of the previous night condensing in his mind. "I'd been in the library and had come back to the Tower. I felt so tired ... almost like I didn't have the energy to get up the stairs." He winced slightly at the memory of such deep-seated exhaustion. "I remember collapsing onto the bed and then the dreams starting."

"Dreams?"

"Um, I don't mean real dreams, I'm not even sure I was asleep. More like daydreams ... visions maybe. They were about my childhood and...." Yes, about being locked in the cupboard at Privet Drive and Voldemort coming for him.... "And Voldemort." He didn't notice the shadow of dark fear that flashed briefly in the grey eyes. "Sometimes when I dream about him or if he's close by, my scar hurts and I get blinding headaches."

"Yes." Draco's fingers disentangled themselves from the bedclothes and he brushed them over the lightning bolt mark. "You told me that." 

Harry sighed at the touch, his eyes drifting closed as the caress to his scar infused his being with the same calming presence it had the previous night.

"I remember hearing someone in the next room and calling for help, but nobody came. Then it got really cold ... so cold I thought I might die...." He shivered at the memory and Draco's hand moved from his forehead, the fingers trailing down and curving protectively around Harry's hip.

Draco had come to him, found him here, in this room and looked after him. Draco had cuddled the warmth back into his trembling body and taken away the pain.

Swallowing, Harry shifted closer. "Then you came." He felt Draco's hand move to the small of his back, the fingers stroking over the sensitive spot at the base of his spine, and Harry reached out to press his own fingers delicately -- almost timidly -- on Draco's chest. "You came to help me." Hesitating for just a heartbeat, Harry closed the gap between them and allowed his lips to brush briefly across Draco's mouth. "Thank you," he whispered against the warm lips.

For a moment Draco wouldn't meet Harry's eyes, but then his hand touched the Gryffindor's cheek and he returned the kiss, taking Harry's bottom lip between his own. The pressure was gentle to start with as Draco teased and nipped, letting his tongue run back and forth. When Draco finally released him, Harry felt light-headed and he tried to focus on the face in front of him, but before he could, the touch returned and Draco was kissing him again. This time his fingers ... those long, slim, perfect fingers ... caught into his hair and pulled him closer.

It was a long, lazy kiss that seemed to go on forever, and Harry basked in the astonishing intimacy of it. When he'd kissed Draco before it had been in the throes of passion, but this was different. There was no urgency or demand, just a slow building of delight as they let their lips caress and tongues touch.

At first Harry had found that a little strange ... the idea that his tongue could be so sensitive. This wasn't the first time Draco's rough tongue had ventured into Harry's mouth or his into Draco's, oh no, but the deliberate ease of their shared exploration captivated Harry in ways he couldn't describe. It was like....

Like....

Having sex, he decided. Having someone else inside his body. Filling him. But this time he was inside Draco, the sensitive tip of his own tongue running across Draco's teeth and caressing the inside of his mouth. Harry liked to let the tip just touch Draco's tongue and flick away, knowing that Draco would follow and he would feel the invading presence of Draco in his own mouth again.

It was only when they finally pulled apart, both panting for breath, that Harry realised his hand was twisted in Draco's hair, mirroring the way Draco was holding him, and that they were now pressed nicely together from chest to hips. One of his ankles had caught around Draco's leg, which had slid upwards a little so that the Slytherin's thigh was now nicely trapped between Harry's legs. 

And, it was pressing close against Harry's growing erection.

"Ummm." Harry swallowed, only too aware of how aroused he was beginning to feel. "Maybe we should ... you know ... stop...."

Draco's tongue flicked out, touching the little fast-beating pulse point at the base of Harry's throat. "Why?"

"Well, this isn't like your room."

"Well spotted. Mine is cool greens and silvers. Yours is reds and golds." Draco flexed his hips, the movement pressing him against Harry, the pressure making them both groan.

"Noooo, I ... I mean there aren't any doors. Someone might hear us." If someone heard them or came in (not such an unlikely scenario as he knew from experience), how the hell would he explain it?

Draco chuckled, the sound vibrating along Harry's collarbone as Draco licked and nipped from one end to the other. "Scared, Potter?" 

Harry bristled a little. Of course he wasn't scared. Except this was Malfoy. He had a boy in his bed and they were both getting very nicely turned on, and the feeling was just so wonderful. The sensations building in him sent little shivers of desire to his nerve endings, each of which seemed to be sending jolts of anticipation through him. It made him feel light-headed and he wanted nothing more than to make love with Draco again.

"You wish, Malfoy," Harry finally whispered as his hand travelled down Draco's body to linger on the curve of his hip, increasing the pressure between them. "I just don't," he took a little breath, "want to sully your reputation by being found in a Gryffindor's bed."

"Well, if you're worried I could always put up a silencing charm." Draco returned once again to Harry's mouth, kissing and teasing until Harry was limp in his arms. When he pulled away, his grey eyes were almost black and a mischievous grin twisted his mouth. "Of course, we could just see how quiet we can be." He flexed his bent leg, pushing it further between Harry's until it pressed tightly against him. "Can you do that, Mouse? Make love to me in silence?"

Harry shuddered, and despite his efforts to keep his voice low and steady, he did squeak. "Can you?"

Draco smirked. "But I'm not the one who squeaks and then comes with a raucous cry am I?" He was rocking against Harry now, their erections pressing together in a way Harry had never felt before, a moan rippling from his throat. "You aren't doing very well so far." 

"Cheat."

"All's fair in love and war, Harry. Ready?" A nod. "Then follow my lead."

"What do you mean?"

"Simple, Potter. I do something and you have to do the same. Like this." Draco ran the tip of his index finger along Harry's collarbone. "And now you do the same."

"Like this?" Harry copied the movement, brushing his own finger along Draco's collarbone; aware suddenly that Draco had shifted back from him a little so that their bodies were no longer touching. He could still feel the heat from the other boy's body, and his skin tingled where they had been touching each other.

"Mmmm," Draco gave a little sigh and let his finger trail up the curve of Harry's neck. Almost immediately Harry mirrored the contact along the line of Draco's neck. "Now close your eyes; the first person to make a noise has to pay a forfeit."

"Such as?" Harry's eyes fluttered closed and his voice hitched as Draco's fingers ran over his lips before resting feather-light against them. His own hand reached for Draco's mouth, feeling those lips forming words as Draco answered.

"Well, that's up to the winner isn't it?"

"Yes," was all Harry could think to say as they both became silent, the only sound that of their breathing as their fingers moved over each other. They both became lost in the sensation, forgetting that there was a world outside of the room.

Harry continued to follow the other boy's lead, with only milliseconds between Draco's initial touch and Harry's response on the pale skin of his partner. With his eyes closed, Harry felt a weird sense of sensory deprivation. It wasn't unpleasant, in fact after the first few minutes, Harry found it strangely erotic and with each touch he became more and more aroused. He would trail his fingers over Draco at the same moment Draco's hands moved over him, and with his eyes closed it was almost, a small part of Harry decided, as if he was responsible for the touches on his own skin. 

He wondered if Draco had his eyes closed, but he didn't want to break the spell by looking ... wanted to trust Draco to be true to his word ... needed to believe in him.

Fingers drifted over his body, their touch alternating between light caresses, heavier strokes and occasional little pinches and nips.

Shoulder ... nipple ... elbow ... ribs ... hip ... throat ... lips ... ear lobe ... navel ... thigh ... knee....

Mouth ... lips to lips....

Tongue....

Harry was lost ... lost in the sensations ... lost in Draco and the feel of his skin. The taste of Draco in his mouth, and the sound of the Slytherin's soft sighs. His arousal grew exponentially with each touch until he began to wonder if he'd ever felt anything but the way he did at this moment.

Then, just when he thought it couldn't be any better, he felt himself rolled in to the vee of Draco's thighs where he settled into the cradle of his open hips, the pressure of Draco's erection against his own. He groaned and forgot all about following Draco's movements as hands cupped his arse, pulling him even closer.

His whole world seemed to condense down to this one place, and suddenly all that was important was being here in his bed with Draco, and when he spoke, his mouth silently formed that person's name.

"Draco...."

Harry's mouth opened in soundless pleasure as Draco's fingers -- slick, oiled fingers -- slipped between their bodies and closed around his him. He pushed into the open palm, flexing as Draco drew more and more pleasure from him, and Harry fell into the blond's mouth with a desire he didn't think possible.

"I need you," he mouthed.

Draco nodded.

"Please...."

Another nod, and Harry started to roll off, wanting to pull Draco on top of him, to experience that exquisite weight pressing down on his body ... longing to feel the sweetness of Draco completing him. But Draco didn't let him; as his legs spread wider, he moved his hands to cup Harry's arse again, before flexing his hips against Harry's, pressing them tightly together.

Harry choked out a groan and buried his head in the crook of Draco's neck. His body took up the same rhythm ... he was hard and aching and the growing need was flooding through his body.

Then, just when Harry thought he couldn't hold back any longer, Draco moved. He pulled up his legs, bending his knees, and let his hips rock forward. Harry felt himself slip into position as Draco's hand reached for him again. With a groan, Harry pushed himself up a little. He needed to see Draco's expression to know how he was feeling. As he met those grey eyes, Harry realised he was being guided to make love to Draco.

Eyes wide, Harry tried to speak. He'd never done this -- not with Draco, not with anyone -- but the words caught in his throat. All he could do was gasp for air as Draco's hands reached for his hips guiding him back and forth. He whimpered and panted and then, just when he thought he might explode, Draco's legs wrapped around him and he silenced Harry's cries by pulling him into a deep, searing kiss. 

That same kiss captured their joint cries as they moved together to completion.

********************

Draco lay still as the heady afterglow saturated his body. He felt like a limp rag, every muscle in his body seemed to have lost all strength, and it was only with great difficulty that he was able to keep his arms wrapped around Harry. It didn't help that Harry was a boneless quivering weight atop him either, or that Harry's fingers were still clutching so tightly at his upper arms that Draco momentarily feared the blood supply might be cut off. He could feel Harry's fast-beating heart pressing against his own, and the other boy's efforts at drawing air into his lungs was emphasized by the rapid puffs of breath on Draco's chest.

And underscoring everything was the feeling of Harry joined with him, leaving him sated and aroused at the same time.

It would be so easy to fall asleep like this, Draco decided. To sleep with Harry's lithe body on top of him and completing him. But he knew he couldn't do that. As he lay there in this post-coital bliss, Draco had become aware of the castle coming to life as its inhabitants woke. Harry had been right earlier when he'd commented about people's reactions on finding a Slytherin in his bed.

He moved his hands to Harry's hips and, spreading his still raised knees, he allowed Harry to leave him. The boy groaned at the movement, finally releasing his death-grip, and whimpered a little as Draco whispered a cleaning charm, before settling his sated lover back into the welcoming cradle of Draco's hips.

Gathered Harry into his arms, Draco shifted slightly and couldn't help but sigh at the skin-to-skin contact. He buried his face in Harry's messy black hair, revelling in the taste and scent and feel of the other boy. Everything about the moment seemed perfect and all he wanted right here, and right now, was to remain like this forever. 

But he knew they couldn't, so he contented himself in remaining like this until Harry chose to move.

Harry....

With a sigh, Draco let his eyelids drop. He'd needed Harry to take him ... almost as though in that moment of shared passion and possession, he'd been wiped clean from what had happened the previous night. He felt tainted by what Voldemort had said and done to him -- as though the man's words and actions were a defilement of both his mind and body. He could still feel where the Dark Lord's fingers had gripped his shoulder and knew that the marks would be visible beneath his concealment charm.

But Harry....

Arms tightened reflexively around the slim body pressing against him, and Draco tried to make sense of the conflicting emotions that still battled within him, leaving him in a shadowy place of his own making.

He knew that he was a Dark wizard and that he'd been trained in the Arts for as long as he could remember. He knew that people expected certain things of him and that he was expected to show the Wizarding community just how important being a pure-blood was. But couldn't he do those things without pledging himself to Voldemort? 

It had never before occurred to him that he wouldn't one day accept the Dark Lord's Mark. His father had always talked about the event with an anticipatory gleam in his eye -- how he looked forward to one day seeing his only son swear eternal loyalty to the mightiest wizard there was. Draco remembered the only time he'd ever questioned his father about the Dark Lord. He'd been eight or nine years old and had been standing in front of his father, listening to him extol the virtues of the Dark Lord for what seemed liked the millionth time. Lucius had finally fallen silent and Draco had looked at him.

"Father...."

"Yes, Draco?"

"If the Dark Lord is so powerful then how did a baby beat him?" 

His father had never answered the question. Instead Lucius had punished him by leaving the room. Draco knew he wasn't allowed to leave, or even sit down, until either his father or mother gave him permission. He had lost track of time and had no idea how many hours he'd remained standing there before Narcissa had crept softly into the room and quietly told him to go to bed.

And now, here he was with the baby who had beaten Voldemort, not once but, if the stories were true, on several occasions. He had finally done what Lucius had wanted all those years ago when Harry had picked Ron Weasley over him. He had made friends with the Boy Who Lived. Wouldn't Lucius be proud of him! Draco scoffed at the thought. 

He was probably exactly where his father wanted him to be, but he doubted Lucius would approve of his son's methods. Or his motivation, he admitted. All Lucius wanted was for Draco to give Harry the Portkey, not to sleep with him, and certainly not to have any sense of loyalty or commitment to him. No, Draco was expected to father a Malfoy heir and take Voldemort's Mark, and swear allegiance to someone who was supposed to be the most powerful wizard in the world. 

But wasn't he with the most powerful person right now? Hadn't he seen a small sample of the type of magic Harry could control?

Draco knew it wasn't just Harry's power that had made him start looking beyond the life that had been planned for him by his father. Draco had feelings for Harry he'd never expected, and it was that which was making him question his own future. He knew with certainty that he didn't want to share Harry with anyone, least of all Voldemort or Lucius.

But to publicly refuse Voldemort, especially after what had happened during his rituals, would probably alienate him from his friends and family, and that would mean he'd have to be very careful how he voiced his opinions and plans to everyone. Would his father understand Draco's doubts and confusion? He was sure Lucius wouldn't be pleased if his son refused to follow the path laid out for him, but he was equally certain that his father would eventually accept Draco's right to make his own resolutions about his future.

Surely life wasn't an "either/or" situation. There had to be a middle way that meant he didn't have to pledge himself either to Voldemort's Death Eaters or Dumbledore's happy-clappy little band. Just because he refused to join the Dark Lord, it didn't automatically mean he was pledging himself to Voldemort's enemy. The fact was Draco didn't even agree with most of the things Harry and his Gryffindor friends believed in, and couldn't see himself _ever_ sitting in front of the fire in the Gryffindor common room having jolly chats with the Weasel and Co while toasting crumpets!

But he did want Harry....

As for this relationship, Draco didn't know exactly where it was headed, or just how long he and Harry might stay together, but at the moment the need to protect and cherish the boy was overwhelmingly strong. Draco didn't really know where the feelings came from or how to deal with them, but he knew he'd have to face them soon.

How, he wondered, had Harry gotten under his skin so quickly and in such an all-consuming way? Six months ago Draco knew he would have never confessed to the things as he had downstairs in the school Archive. To have admitted those things to anyone, least of all Harry, went against everything he had been taught to believe was right.

But he did want Harry to want him....

********************

When Harry finally woke again, the sky had turned blue/grey.

He stretched luxuriously against the taut planes of Draco's chest, and was released from the circle of the arms holding him. After a moment the dark head shifted a little and green eyes met grey, a lazy smile spilling over Harry's face. "Hello." The voice was full of sleep.

Draco stared at him for a moment before winding his fingers into the black silky hair. Then, tugging gently, he tilted Harry's head back a little and began to kiss the sleepy mouth again. Harry offered no resistance, content to let Draco have his own way as he nipped and teased at the oh-so-compliant mouth. When Draco finally pulled away, Harry let out a sound that was a cross between a moan of pleasure and a groan of annoyance that it was now over.

"Hello." Draco's voice was full of amusement and his smile reflected his obvious pleasure at Harry's reaction. "How are you feeling? Cramp all gone now?"

"Cramp?" Harry nibbled at the part of Draco nearest to him -- the edge of his jaw. "Oh yes, I remember now ... back before you made me do things."

"Things?"

"Mmm." A hand glided down Draco's body and slipped between his legs. "Things."

"Oh right -- those things." Fingers touched him, sending a jolt of pleasure through him. "Did you like it?"

"It was ... amazing. I never did that before." A shy blush had begun to suffuse Harry's face and he looked away, the reaction almost demure. "I mean, not that particular thing...."

"Not with a boy."

"Not with anyone," The fingers that had been playing with Draco pulled away, "of either sex."

Draco's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Really?" Harry nodded against him. "So I'm your first? In everything?" Another nod. "Well what do you know? That's something for me to brag about next time Teen Witch Weekly interviews me. Ouch!" Draco let out a sharp yelp as Harry pinched his arse. "That hurt!"

"It was supposed to." Harry nuzzled back down against Draco's shoulder. "This is nice."

"What is?"

"Being here. Waking up with you and everything else."

Draco's arms tightened around Harry again. It _was_ nice to wake up here with Harry and it felt like the most natural thing in the world. He'd woken up with Alex Palmer several times during their relationship the previous summer, but that had been different. Draco would never deny that he'd enjoyed the experience, and from Alex's reactions, so had the older man. But it had all been very physical and he knew full well that Alex had no emotional attachment to him any more than he had for Alex. They'd talked before and after, and even during, but there had been no quiet companionship like this. No emotional afterglow.

He wondered what it would be like to have the freedom to enjoy the same physical relationship with Harry that he'd had with Alex. To be able to meet every day and spend time together instead of snatching chances like this. He knew he would have to leave soon and had no idea when he'd be alone with Harry again. And what made that even more difficult was the fact he had to see Harry every day and pretend there was nothing going on between them.

"I should go." Draco kissed Harry's temple. "Before too many people are around." The second kiss was on the corner of Harry's mouth.

Harry wiggled closer, moulding himself against the body beneath him for a moment before pulling back. "I suppose so. You'll have to borrow my cloak."

"Mmm, and you'll have to come and collect it later." Draco shifted slightly and licked quickly at Harry's right nipple. The groan elicited by the contact rumbled in Harry's chest and Draco imagined he could feel it trembling through his own body.

"If you keep doing things like that I might not let you go. I could keep you locked here in my room ... who would miss you?"

"Yeah, right, Potter. I'd like to see you try." Draco's finger ran up the length of Harry's chest, starting at his groin and continuing up to his throat. "Harry, before I go I need to ask you a question." 

"This sounds serious, so okay." Harry pushed back a little, a questioning frown on his face.

"Why did you cut your hair?"

"What?" Harry started to laugh and dropped on to his back. "That's your serious question?"

"It's the start of my serious question. And it is connected." Draco turned on his side, resting on his elbow to look down at the other boy.

Harry shrugged. "I felt like it."

"So, it was just a whim?" Harry nodded, but didn't say anything. "It had nothing to do with what happened in my room when you passed out?"

"Ah, right. I take it that is the serious bit?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "I need to know what happened, Harry." 

"About my hair? That's easy." Harry pulled away from him, sitting up to rest against the headboard. "You see I was in Hermione's room and...."

"About why you passed out, Harry." The grey eyes glinted dangerously. "You do know what happened and why, don't you?" The look softened. "Don't you think I deserve that much? To at least know why?"

Harry stared ahead, aware of the weight of Draco's hand on his abdomen, the warmth from it suffusing into his skin. Beneath it, the intricate red and gold Celtic knot tattoo that Hermione had magicked onto him a month ago felt warm. She'd refused to rid him of it and Harry had refused to beg.

How the hell could he confess to Draco about the emerald and the fact his vision had taken him to what Harry believed was Malfoy Manor? To own up to either thing put him in the same position he'd been with Hermione ... he couldn't tell one thing without owning up and telling Draco everything. If he explained about the visions, he'd have to discuss the fact he was able to read Dream Stones and that he believed the emerald to be such a stone. That admission would lead to all sorts of things -- the Earth Magic, even the prophecy.

He felt the flickering of a wry smile twist his lips. Wouldn't Draco have fun with that one? Certainly the Draco from the previous year would have hounded him remorselessly, but what about this one? It was one thing to share Draco's bed, but to give him information that he could pass onto his father, who would have no compunction about passing it onto Voldemort, was something completely different. 

Yet, there were things going on between Draco and himself that were more than just sex. Harry knew his feelings had been growing ever since New Year, and Draco's honesty during their quarrel in the school Archive had both surprised and pleased him.

But was the fact Draco had been honest enough reason to trust him? Even as Harry studied the person lying next to him, he knew it wasn't enough. But there was something else ... something more important than honesty.

Draco had come to Harry's aid the previous night. He had helped Harry. Had cared for him.

And that was enough.

"Okay," Harry finally responded. "But not here, not now." He let out a breath as the hand on his abdomen tightened reflexively, fingers digging slightly into his flesh. "We need to find somewhere safe. Maybe Hagrid's."

"My room?"

"I'm ... No, not there. I'll send you a message."

Draco wriggled across and nestled against the length of Harry's leg, one arm slung lazily over the firm thigh. "Okay, I've waited a week, so I guess I can wait a bit longer."

"Draco, it's important you realise...." The words died in his throat as a new voice cut into the room and the curtain across the door was ripped aside.

"Harry! Are you awake, mate?"

As Ron Weasley stepped into the room, Harry, with no idea where his speed or presence of mind came from, did three things simultaneously. He pulled up his knees, tenting the bedclothes, and pushed at Draco's head, trying desperately to get the Slytherin out of sight. With his other hand, he grabbed for a book on his bedside table, opening it to a random page.

When he looked up to greet his friend, the expression on his face was one of complete ... if rather messy ... innocence. He was uncomfortably aware of what had happened in his bed, and he surreptitiously pulled the sheets further up his body. "Ron." The single word disintegrated into a squeak as somewhere under the blankets a finger pressed against him. "Morning."

********************

"Well?"

"It didn't work."

With deliberate care, Shadow placed his cup onto the table before meeting the boy's troubled gaze. "Why?" The single word was cold ... ominous.

"I don't know. I went to his room expecting to find him half-dead, but he was sat up in bed looking like nothing had happened."

"And all your wards -- the ones you assured me he would never be able to remove?"

Cloud shuffled nervously. "They were gone."

"Gone?"

"I don't understand it. We both know how badly he was hurting. There was no way he could have done this by himself."

"Then I suggest you get out of here and make sure you find out who his saviour was. And you'd better get some rest; you look terrible and the last thing I need now is either Dumbledore or McGonagall asking what you were up to last night."

********************

The sunshine didn't last.

By the time Draco made it to breakfast, the blue sky had disappeared under a blanket of cloud. By lunchtime, a rainstorm of Biblical proportions had soaked the grounds to the point that even when the rain stopped it was pointless going out without either waders or swimming gear. So, instead of the Slytherin common room being a haven for the older students, it was currently full of first and second years rushing about getting in everyone's way and making life hell.

Draco had found a quiet corner and was pleased to find that none of the screaming children came anywhere near him. He'd been in his own room earlier, but the need for companionship ... to be _with _people even if he didn't join in ... had driven him back here even if he had to put up with the noise and confusion.

In his little sea of calm, Draco was sprawled on his favourite chair, an Arithmancy book open, but ignored, on his lap, with his legs outstretched. One arm was flung over the side of the chair, while the index finger of his other hand was in his mouth as he absently chewed yet again at his fingernail. He paused for a moment to study the nail. Once it had been nicely shaped and well cared for, but now it was like the others, bitten down to the quick. Draco blamed Harry in an abstract way for the damage. If he hadn't started the relationship with the other boy, Draco suspected his nails would still be perfect.

Still, he smirked; short nails did have their advantages.

He wondered what Harry was doing with his afternoon. A sweet daydream began to formulate in his mind of he and Harry together in some cosy room in front of a fire. Harry would be curled up in the corner of a sofa and Draco stretched out full length along it with his head on Harry's lap.

The image swiftly changed and Draco felt a spark of jealousy as he pictured Harry with Granger. Before he'd been in the Gryffindor common room, it had been easy to imagine it as some forbidding place ... somewhere Harry would be glad to get out of. But now he'd seen it, and while it wasn't to his taste at all, it was the perfect cosy Gryffindor setting. He'd noticed a little corner next to a window with a sofa, chair and table. He could imagine Harry on the old sofa pretending to study, with Granger in the saggy armchair next to him. And what about the Weasel? Draco shuddered as the redhead materialised into the image, leaning against Harry, the pair sniggering about something. 

Ronald Bloody Weasley!

Oh, how Draco detested the boy. There had been many reasons for him to hate Weasley since they'd all started at Hogwarts and, if Draco was honest, most of them were connected in some way with Harry. He used to hate Weasley with the flaming passion of a thousand suns, as Pansy had once put it. That was back in his first and second years when he hated Weasley because Harry had chosen him over Draco. Every time Draco had looked at Harry, Weasley would be there as well, that stupid smug Weasel face smirking at him -- all red hair and freckles -- reminding Draco that, when given the choice, Harry had picked Ron Weasley over Draco Malfoy.

It was Weasley who had prevented Draco from fulfilling his father's wishes about making friends with The Boy Who Lived, and that had hurt everything from Draco's ego to his self-esteem. He remembered how it had felt when Weasley had given him a black eye in the first year during their fight at the Gryffindor/Hufflepuff Quidditch match. Madam Pomfrey had been too busy to fix it straight away and he'd had to go to dinner with it still there. Weasley had worn his injuries like much prized war wounds, but the Gryffindor had laughed and pointed at Draco and called him 'panda face' for days afterwards even when the bruise had been removed.

Draco had managed to get his own back on countless occasions, however. Weasley might be good with his fists, but he had no ability for quick-witted retorts at all. So it had always been easy to rouse that redheaded temper with just a few choice words, and Draco was happy to oblige whenever the opportunity had presented itself. And more often than not, he would be treated to Harry's green eyes glaring at him with such incredible Gryffindor self-righteous indignation that it was worth whatever punishment might be forthcoming. That look had always sent a wash of heady heat through Draco, but it wasn't until now he was older he realised what it was. 

But the flaming, passionate hatred for Weasley had cooled over the fourth year into cold, hard, loathing. He'd watched as the Golden Boy and his Faithful Sidekick had fallen out with each other. He'd even written to his father about it. Lucius had told him to watch them and let him know if and when they made friends again. Weasley and Harry hadn't spoken for months, and Draco had been there on the sidelines watching Harry struggle with the Triwizard Tournament tasks, and Draco had struggled with how this had made him feel. He would smirk openly at Harry's plight (the exquisite 'Potter Stinks' badges for example), but wonder why his insides became so knotted when Harry had gone against the dragon or been underwater for so long.

And how could he forget finally seeing the clue for the Second Task: _We've taken what you'll sorely miss._ Harry had been required to rescue the person he would miss the most. And who had that been ... bloody Weasley no less! Now _that_ rankled Draco and he still refused to admit even to himself that he'd wished it had been him in the water instead of the Weasel.

Today, there was an extra-special deep dark pit of loathing inside Draco that had been ignited by Weasley's homophobic rantings on Valentine's night when the redhead had confronted him on the staircase. Weasley was meant to be Harry's best friend yet he'd been prepared to slag him off to the very person who was supposed to be Harry's worst enemy. It was as if Weasley had suddenly turned schizophrenic -- one part prepared to dish the dirt on Harry, the other happy to be the faithful sidekick with his arm slung around Harry's shoulder all the time.

It was their friendly banter and casual touching that had irritated a sore niggling point in Draco. It actually hurt watching the two Gryffindors together doing their 'best buddy' act and the emotional pain twisted in his gut until he felt sick. They'd been acting like that this lunchtime, even after what Draco and Harry had shared earlier. How Draco now wished that he'd just sat up in Harry's bed and let Weasel see the pair of them naked and clearly enjoying themselves. He could just picture the expression on Weasley's face as the boy became apoplectic with rage and jealousy.

He might even have dropped dead from shock, Draco sighed regretfully.

Instead Draco had contented himself with curling around Harry under the blankets and gently teasing Harry back to full hardness with his probing fingers.

It had come as a revelation that Harry had managed to keep his voice relatively calm during the entire incident, especially with Draco doing things that should have dissolved Harry into a gibbering wreck. That, of course, had come later. The moment Weasley had left the room; Draco had pulled Harry beneath the covers and taken him in another sensual and extraordinary moment.

He wondered what Weasley would have done if he'd turned back to see all that movement beneath the sheets or if he'd heard Harry's uninhibited moans before they'd been captured by Draco's mouth.

Why had Weasley visited anyway? The visit clearly hadn't been to say a general "good morning" -- Weasley's first words had been, _I heard a noise and I was worried you might be ill. You've taken a potion._ Not the usual way to greet someone on a fine Sunday morning.

The whole speech hadn't rung true. Draco knew full well that he and Harry hadn't made a sound, at least not anything that could be heard outside the confines of the bed. Even though he'd made the wager with Harry about remaining silent, Draco had made sure they couldn't be heard. He'd quickly learned that Harry could be a very vocal person in bed and there was no way Draco was going to risk them being caught _in flagrante delicto._

The silencing spell was one taught to him by an uncle when he was about seven years old. Draco had decided he wanted to learn how to play his mother's prized piano, but she had told him in no uncertain terms that if he touched it he would be punished. So Draco would creep down to the room in the middle of the night, set up the silencing bubble around the piano, and thump at the keys to his heart's content. It was only when his mother had suggested lessons that he realised the spell ... or rather his ability to cast it ... had not been very effective.

But Draco knew now that he could cast the spell very competently, and the bubble would absorb any sounds from within it, so Weasley couldn't have heard a thing.

Had Weasley come into the room expecting to find Harry sick? Maybe still in the state Draco had found Harry the previous night? Weasley had noticed the potion wrapper left from the mixture Draco had made up and knew that Harry took them. He didn't want to think what might be causing Harry's blinding headaches, but clearly they occurred often enough for Harry to had the medicine so close at hand. Who knew that Harry suffered so? Dumbledore of course, and Pomfrey ... Draco recognised her writing on the potion wrapper. Granger and Weasley had to know as well, and probably the little Happy Harry Gang of Thomas, Longbottom and Finnigan. Had they been told to make sure that either Weasley or Granger knew about the episodes whenever they happened? 

But, if they knew, then they would come rushing to Harry's side right away. There would be no waiting for the next morning to check up on the Golden Boy.

Which, Draco's Slytherin mindset deliberated, meant only one thing. Weasley had known about the spells left on Harry's room and had expected to find a sick, cold and nearly dead Harry rather than a healthy, warm and freshly shagged Harry when he'd visited in the morning. And if that was the case, Draco mused thoughtfully, then Weasley also had to know who set the spells in the first place.

Draco's eyes widened as a preposterous and wildly improbably scenario began to formulate in his mind. What if everything was linked to Voldemort showing up in the middle of Draco's magic rituals? Was it a coincidence that the Dark Lord had been able to gain access not only through Draco's wards, but through the even stronger defences around the castle as well? Someone had clearly acted as a conduit for Voldemort and the Dark Lord had planned on taking Draco to Harry's room from the beginning. But why go to all that trouble and risk someone tracking what Voldemort had done? Draco frowned, absently turning an unread page of his book. Hadn't Voldemort said something about Harry that Draco had forgotten? Lost in the Dark Lord's assertion that Draco was, in reality, a squib? 

_If you want to fuck him, then go ahead. He has nothing else to offer anyone. But, dear Draco, if you dare to consider cheating on me, I will rip you to pieces._

Voldemort _knew_ there was something going on between Harry and Draco. The whole point of his visit had been to warn Draco and scare him away from any allegiance he might have with Harry, and the Dark Lord had obviously decided that showing Draco a defenceless and powerless Harry was the best way to achieve that. He'd expected that this was all it would take to make Draco change his opinion of Harry. 

Draco, who had always appreciated the beauty of power and control, of purity and lineage.

Draco, who believed in his rightful place in the world and in the greater scheme of things.

Voldemort had basically given his blessing for Draco to use Harry in any way he choose because the Gryffindor was no longer worthy of the Dark Lord's time and consideration. Even Voldemort had expected to be told of a sick, cold, nearly dead and _powerless_ Harry in bed this morning.

He twisted the little silver ring on his right index finger round and round, eyes narrowing as his thoughts came into focus. If he accepted that, firstly, Weasley knew about the spells and Harry being ill, and, secondly, that Voldemort had orchestrated what had happened to Harry, then the only conclusion Draco could make was that Weasley must have known what Voldemort had done to Harry.

Which meant Weasley was working with the Dark Lord.

Draco gave a snort of derision. The whole train of thought was ridiculous and so far-fetched it didn't really warrant serious consideration. Weasley and Voldemort? Could there ever be a more unlikely pair than ... than ... well, himself and Harry possibly? Weasley was one of Dumbledore's little cronies ... a member of the Headmaster's Army of Light ... one of the most 'unpure-blood' pure-bloods Draco had ever known. His whole family were Muggle lovers -- they'd fought against the Dark Lord in the last war -- so how could Weasley have gotten mixed up with Voldemort?

He pulled the ring off and studied the twin emerald eyes of the silver snake he'd worn since the summer following his second year. Surely his father would have told him if one of the people watching him at school was Weasley. He would have heard _something_ that suggested the Gryffindor was involved with the Dark Lord.

And Weasley was supposed to be Harry's friend, for fuck's sake! 

"I'm so bloody bored!"

Draco looked up quickly, slipping the ring back on his finger as the voice dragged him from his increasingly sceptical thoughts. Greg Goyle had flopped into a chair opposite and was currently unwrapping a rather crushed-looking chocolate frog. "You've got loads of homework, Greg," Draco suggested helpfully.

Greg dropped the wrapper and started pulling the legs off the frog. "It's Sunday. I don't want to study."

"Then what do you want to do?"

Draco had known the boy for most of his life -- their parents were friends and Greg had often come to the Manor. In fact there had been a whole group of families and children who would shared the same tutors ... himself, Pansy, Greg, Vince, Millicent, Blaise, Tracey, Theodore, Daphne. All from good Slytherin families. All with parents whose names he'd heard in connection with the Dark Lord.

And the Weasleys? Draco remembered eavesdropping on conversations between his father and others that dripped with sarcastic and disparaging remarks about the Weasley family. They were poor. They acted like Muggles and half-bloods instead of the pure-bloods they really were.

He began to chew at his fingernail again. Was it just a coincidence that all those families had chosen to have children at the same time? And also that the Potters and Weasleys had as well? If he worked his way through the other children in his year, did the "two sides" even out? Dumbledore's Army of Light and Voldemort's Death Eaters? Or maybe the two sides were divided into "for" and "against" Muggle-borns.

It didn't really matter how he divided them; in the end it always seemed to come down to Them (Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs) and Us (Slytherins). It seemed to have gotten into the psyche of the Wizarding world that because Voldemort was 'evil' and he'd been in Slytherin while at Hogwarts, all Slytherins were equally as 'evil'. Draco was proud not only of his Malfoy birthright but of his Slytherin heritage as well, and he wasn't planning on giving either up just because people continued to perpetuate some stupid myth.

Slytherin had always been a proud house, with eager-minded people -- great wizards and witches who had made the Wizarding world what it was. Without them, the Muggles would have destroyed the magical world centuries ago, and while his grandparents and great grandparents might have had an interest in the Dark Arts, they hadn't been followers of some Dark lord. Surely just being interested in the Dark Arts didn't automatically make a person a Dark wizard? And, equally, being a Dark wizard didn't mean you had to be a follower of Voldemort.

As for the myth that all evil witches and wizards came from Slytherin, Draco was sure he could name several nasty people who'd come from other houses, as well as noble people who had come from Slytherin. Sirius Black, for instance. Everyone seemed to have forgotten that once he'd been a convicted murderer who killed Muggles with Dark magic, yet now they were happy to let him teach their children. No, Voldemort and Slytherin weren't inextricably linked and just because he was having problems with one, didn't mean he had to deny the other.

His thoughts drifted back to the fact so many children had been born to so many prominent families on both sides the year before the Dark Lord's demise. What if something had been planned? What if this was all part of some sort of conspiracy and he, Harry and the others were pawns in the renewed power struggle between Dumbledore and Voldemort?

"You know, we'd be out practicing now if it hadn't been for the Gryffindors." Greg threw the Chocolate Frog wrapper at Draco. "Are you listening to me?"

Without thinking, Draco grabbed the wrapper out of the air and stared at it for a moment before throwing it back. "Quidditch." Somewhere off in the distance two of the hyperactive first years had managed to knock over a table and Purcell, the fifth-year prefect, was berating them.

"Yeah, do you know how long it's been since we last practiced? And it's going to be another five weeks before we get a chance."

A thought began to formulate in Draco's mind. "Is it still raining?"

"No, stopped about half an hour ago."

"Good." Draco, with a calculating expression, closed his Arithmancy book and placed it on a side table. "If we all go out to fly, everyone including the Quidditch team, we can have a game of tag. That way we can practice while the others mess around."

"All of us?" Greg sat forward, clearly interested in the possibility of flying.

"As many as want to join in. We can't use Bludgers or a Quaffle, so we'll use scarves. Five people -- we'll call them 'chasers'," Draco grinned, "have scarves and they have to tag one of the other players and pass the scarf over. Then that person becomes a chaser. That way our Beaters and Chasers get the chance to go through their moves, and no one can say we're actually practicing."

Greg grinned widely, clearly excited by the prospect. "Brilliant. Who gets to play?"

"Anyone who can get hold of a broom. Tell the seniors to be careful with the juniors, we don't want anyone hurt."

"And what about you? This isn't going to help you, is it?"

"Oh, don't worry about me. I'm going to get all the practice I need with the Snitch. Let's get everyone ready and _no one_ is to wear any Quidditch gear. Remember, this is for fun, not practice." 

********************

**_Harry's Journal -- Sunday 15th March 1998_**

I'm in the Library. I'm meant to be making notes on snakes and snake-related spells for DADA. Professor Lupin clearly has a sense of humour. What next? An essay entitled "Voldemort and my part in his downfall"?

Sirius wants me to do some research as well -- about Earth Magic and where known energy centres are located. I found the one at Stonehenge, where the Parliament is and another one in London at Diagon Alley. Supposedly there's one in the Forbidden Forest and that's why the Founders built the castle here. It's meant to be why the unplottable magic works so well for both Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, but I guess it's unplottable as well because no one can agree where it is.

And there's one at Glastonbury. Professor Dumbledore has talked about Sirius taking me there over Easter for some 'field work', whatever that means. Sirius didn't say so, but I can tell he's worried about it being so close to Ottery St. Catchpole and what's left of the Burrow. I'm not sure if I want to ever go back there again, but I guess I will have to some day, so maybe going with Sirius would be a good idea. I think I trust him more than anyone else and he's still really the only person I think of as 'family'. My only connection with my parents.

I wonder what he'd say if I told him about ... Him. I've seen the way they look at each other and I can just imagine the look on Sirius' face if I said, "Guess who my boyfriend is."

What would shock Sirius the most? That I'm gay, or who I'm currently sleeping with?

Boyfriend?

See, He gets me side-tracked all the time.

Earth Magic and Glastonbury. Right. According to Professor Dumbledore, some people can tap into the energy from these centres and use it. The reason he wants Sirius to take me to Glastonbury is because the energy centre at the Tor -- that's a bloody big hill -- is so near the surface that even some Muggles can use the energy. He seems to think that I can use Earth Magic in ways that most people can't and he wants me to experience it for real. I've been training with Sirius for weeks now but haven't really noticed that I can do things others can't.

I mean I know I'm getting better at doing magic without my wand, but then he can do that as well?

There was something really satisfying in seeing his expression when I changed his shirt down in the Archive the other day. I think he was really shocked -- I know I was -- that I could actually do it, and wow ... the magic seemed to make every hair on my body stand on end. I didn't really think about it at the time, but now I have, it was really scary to think what I'd done and how it made me feel. It was a bit like sex I guess. There's this rush that goes through me when the energy first flows ... gushes. It comes up from the ground and feels like it's passing through every nerve in the body. Some of it seems to pool in my chest (if I concentrate on it now I can still feel it there), and then it reaches into my mind as if it's waiting for me to direct it. I know I put my hand out and point, but I don't think I really even need to do that. It's more like I just have to think where I want it to go.

Using a wand isn't like that at all. Wand magic sort of starts from somewhere in the pit of my stomach and just leaves a tingle when it's over. This magic whacks you over the head so hard that you see stars. Sometimes when I'm out walking on the grass I can almost feel it seeping into me ... a bit like when you walk on wet grass and it makes the bottoms of your trousers damp. The wetness seeps up the material and by the time you go back in your trousers are wet for several inches. And in charms last week it was hard to focus with my wand ... all that swishing and flicking ... I wanted to just reach out with my hand and draw the energy from inside.

That's scary. I wonder if he feels the same when he's doing wandless magic?

Back to him again. I guess I should just get on with this and stop trying not to write about him. Come on, Harry, you know you want to! 

Okay. This morning was bloody brilliant. Each time I'm with him I think it can't get any better, but it does ... every fucking time! I love the feel of him and the way he touches me and how he always seems to know what I want and need. And waking up with him ... I never thought something so simple could mean so much. I wonder if it would be the same with someone else, but at the moment he's all I want. I don't care about what he might be or who he might become if Voldemort gets him. I just want him so badly it hurts in places I didn't know it could hurt. It isn't just the sex either -- just being with him is enough.

And I don't understand why. I don't know why or how he makes me feel like this because I've never felt like it before. I thought I loved Hermione in that way once ... sexually, I mean ... but the way I love her is completely different, she's my best friend. Does she feel like this when she's with Seamus? Did my dad feel like this for my mum? Is it right for me to feel like this for another boy?

He wants to know what happened in his room with the emerald. It's difficult. I want to trust him more than anything. I need for him to be honest and truthful with me, but then I have to be the same with him. Otherwise what is the point of all this? Of being with him. I don't understand it all yet, but it's like he completes me ... maybe he's the Slytherin side of myself that the Sorting Hat saw.

Or maybe I just want him....

Don't think about it for now, Harry, just forget it and think about something else. Such as last night and the tiredness and the dreams and what happened and why.

I know my scar hurt like hell, but there was more than that. More pain -- like I was being attacked by something. Then there were the dreams. Except they weren't really dreams, they were more like the visions I've had with the Dream Stones. And I'd swear that Voldemort was actually there in my room along with someone else.

Plus I haven't dreamed about Privet Drive since my fifth year, especially about being locked in the cupboard. But this one was different because it wasn't a dream, it really did happen. They took away my glasses and locked me in the cupboard for the whole night. They even took away the light. Then when they were asleep (I could hear Uncle Vernon snoring) I just knew there was something in there with me.

I've gone all cold just thinking about it ... I've got goose pimples all up my arms and the hair on the back of my neck has stuck up. No one knows about that shadow who used to be there or the green light, not even Ron and Hermione. And I haven't told them what happened last night either.

Oh, and there was a weird magical signature lingering in my room. I didn't notice it until I went back there after breakfast. I'm pretty sure it wasn't His magic. I've felt that before and this wasn't the same. I wonder if Ron noticed it when he came in my room this morning.

Thinking about it, there was something about the signature that reminds me of Ron, but then he's always in my room, so why wouldn't his signature be all over the place?

********************

"Harry! Ron! You'll never guess what's going on."

Harry slammed his journal shut, quickly pushing it under a textbook, and spun to face a clearly over-excited Seamus Finnigan. The Irish boy was panting hard, as if he'd been running, and his sandy hair was a mess. He leaned against a bookshelf trying to get his breath back as Madam Pince, the Hogwarts Librarian, appeared out of nowhere to tell them all to "Kindly be quiet or leave."

Seamus muttered an apology and turned to his friends, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. Harry quickly moved from the corner he'd been working to join the others, and the three boys huddled together. "Have you looked out the window recently?"

"No." Harry strained to see without moving from the little group. "What's going on?"

"The Slytherins are all out on their brooms."

"What?" The colour drained from Ron's face. "Where are they?" he hissed.

"Out near the lake. You might be able to see them through that window over there." Seamus gestured towards a window at the rear of the library. "There's hundreds of them."

Harry was already at the window when he hissed back, "Hundreds?" 

"Well, loads then."

"What are they doing?"

"Playing some sort of game ... like tag on brooms. The ones with the Gryffindor scarves are the chasers and they're trying to tag the other players."

Harry was sure Ron was grinding his teeth as he responded, "They're using Gryffindor scarves? The bastards! Where the hell did they get them from?"

"Magic probably." Harry was leaning on the sill watching carefully, and quickly realised that while the Slytherin Quidditch team members were flying with the others, they weren't actually involved in the game. They were playing with a Slytherin scarf.

The colour had returned to Ron's face and he was beginning to smile coldly and triumphantly. "This time we've got them!" Outside, Draco executed a very tight turn on his broom and rushed towards the building before coming to a dead stop. "And that bloody Malfoy."

Harry though for a moment that Draco had seen him in the window. He seemed to look directly at Harry for a few seconds before speeding away after what looked like a Snitch. Harry blinked in surprise as he realised it was, indeed the little silver and gold Snitch. His initial feelings of indignation quickly changed to appreciation, and his mouth flickered into a smile. So Draco had managed to finagle his way into being able to practice after all. Typical Slytherin. He glanced over at Ron, who was no doubt trying to kill Draco by merely glowering at him. "We could go and join them. You know, fly them into the ground."

Ron turned the same glare onto Harry. "You are joking."

"Well..." Harry shrugged. "We've all been wanting to fly; this would give us a chance. Once the teachers find out what they're doing, they'll probably put a stop to it completely."

Ron harrumphed, and turned from the window. "We are not going to play with them. I'd rather the team didn't practice at all. But I am going to put a stop to this right now." He strode from the room, hands clenched into fists.

Seamus and Harry watched him go. "Well, that's a shame. I was looking forward to whopping their arses."

Harry shrugged. "Same here. Come on, I think we better go and stop Ron from making a fool of himself."

********************

Once out on the rather sodden slope leading down to the lake, it was clear that there were probably about fifty Slytherin students taking part in the game. They looped and spun around the sky, chasing each other in the late afternoon sunshine, their cries of pleasure echoing through the still air.

By the time Harry arrived outside, the Slytherins' activities had attracted quite an audience. He leaned back against a boulder, tracking Draco as he zigzagged across the sky.

A quiet voice whispered close to his ear. "He's quiet good."

Harry turned slightly and grinned at Hermione. "Mmmm. But not a patch on me."

"Oh, I don't know. Did you ever manage a turn like that one?" Above them, Draco had stopped his broom on the spot, zipped around a hundred eighty degrees and dashed back in the direction he'd just come from. "Although he is rather showy."

"Since when were you interested in either brooms or Quidditch moves, Hermione?"

The young witch grinned at Harry. "I'm a normal, healthy girl and there is just something about watching fit young men astride their brooms."

Harry looked at her with mock surprise and indignation. "I am shocked, Miss Granger. Are you admitting to finding that man sexy?" 

"I don't think I mentioned sex at all, Mr Potter. Don't put words into my mouth." She tracked Draco across the sky. "Although he does have a rather nice arse -- for a Slytherin." Harry let out a snort and knocked against her shoulder with his own. "What's wrong, Harry? I thought you'd agree with me." She looked at him, her gaze suddenly searching. Harry was sure he could feel himself beginning to blush and he stammered for a moment. "You _are_ watching him rather intently."

"I am not!"

Hermione sniggered as she put her arm round Harry's shoulder and gave a little squeeze. "No, Harry, of course not."

Harry pursed his lips, trying to watch Draco without actually looking directly at him. It was pointless, and with a sigh, he turned to Hermione. "I need to talk to you about..." His eyes flickered automatically towards Draco. "Well, about ... something."

"That's good, because I need to speak to you."

"Oh? What about?"

"I've been doing some research into your prophecy thing and...." She stopped with a squeal as Draco suddenly swooped down, skimming a few feet above their heads.

They both ducked, and unconsciously, Harry's hand shot out to one side, his fingers closing around the Snitch that Draco had been chasing. He spun round, following the retreating broom, and released the Snitch. The little gold and silver ball hovered for a moment before speeding off again.

It didn't get far. A larger hand, belonging to the one person Harry did not want to see, snapped it from the air. The hand held the little Snitch by one of its wings, the other fluttering helplessly, clearly as desperate to escape as Harry now was.

Severus Snape stared at the Snitch for a moment, then turned on Harry, a hard smile twisting at the corner of him mouth. "Well, well, well, Mr Potter. Playing with a Snitch when it has been expressly forbidden. Didn't I make it clear when I said that _all_ Quidditch practice was banned?"

"I wasn't practicing ... I just caught it."

"Really? And who, might I, ask has been out here playing with it?" 

Harry opened his mouth, his eyes flickering in the direction of Draco's now distant broom. "I..." He turned back to Snape. "The Slytherins."

"Really?"

"Professor," Hermione quickly interjected. "Harry has only just come out here, someone else released the Snitch. It wasn't him."

"Miss Granger, when I want your opinion, I will ask for it."

"But the Slytherins are out here practicing."

"Of course they aren't. They are playing a game and, as I have just informed Mr Weasley, they asked my permission before starting. As for you, Mr Potter, you really are just like your father. You can't stop yourself from showing off, can you? Clearly you still believe that instructions do not apply to you. You will report to my office tomorrow evening for detention."

Harry felt himself seethe at the mention of his father, but clenched his mouth closed to prevent the terse response that was on his lips, or, worse. He had been waiting for some sort of reprimand, so another detention from Snape didn't come as any surprise, but the dig at his dad was once again uncalled for. Snape was waiting for him to react, but Harry was determined not to give him the pleasure. At least he only had fifteen more weeks at school before he would be completely free of Snape for good!

He could put up with another detention.

"Yes, sir."

Snape was looking at him with narrowed eyes, and Harry got the impression the Potions Master was trying to read something in his expression, as if gauging what Harry's response might be. Or maybe, Harry decided, Snape was just annoyed because Harry hadn't argued about the detention.

Finally the hard dark stare moved away from Harry as Snape turned his attention to Draco. He waved the Slytherin captain down and Draco landed gracefully in front of the Potions Master.

"Sir?" Draco's eyes shifted briefly to Harry before returning to the professor.

"The Headmaster wants to see you, Mr Malfoy. Leave your broom with Mr Potter, I'm sure he won't mind putting it away."

********************

The Headmaster's office was exactly as it had been on Draco's last visit a month ago. The people in the portraits peered at the young man as he crossed the room and Draco could hear muttered conversations between them.

"He's back...."

"Wonder what he's done this time?"

"Nothing good will come of this...."

"Leave the boy alone."

Draco's eyes were drawn to his one defender. He recognised the aged gentleman from a portrait at Malfoy Manor as Phineas Nigellus, one of the few Slytherin headmasters. Nigellus was also some sort of relative of his mother's from what Draco could remember. The image glowered at him and Draco's lip twitched in return as he hovered beside the Headmaster's desk.

He waited in silence, eyes drifting around the room as he took in the array of strange and wondrous devices littering the shelves and tables. A movement of gold and scarlet caught his attention and he turned towards it, mouth opening in surprise as he realised it was a phoenix. As he watched, the creature ruffled its feathers, fixed Draco with its black-eyed stare and let out a small crow.

Slowly, as if hypnotised by the creature's intense gaze, Draco stepped toward the golden perch. He stood before the bird, enthralled and awed by the creature in equal measure. He'd read about them of course, and had even heard that Dumbledore had one. There had even been a rumour about it helping Harry in his second year, but he'd never dreamed of ever seeing a live phoenix, let alone actually being this close to one.

The creature watched him with eyes like black bottomless wells. He remembered the rumours about Harry's Animagus form being a phoenix, and as he studied the bird with its Gryffindor plumage, like the flames of its rebirth fires, Draco knew it would be a perfect choice. The image of Harry on his broom, dressed in his scarlet and gold Quidditch robes streaking across the sky flashed through Draco's mind ... Harry the Phoenix.

Mesmerized, Draco slowly reached out his hand towards the creature. It looked at his fingers, head titled to one side before once again meeting Draco's eyes. Then without warning, it unfurled its wings and darted the few feet towards the boy. Its beak was open, the vicious tip arching towards Draco's face, but he held his ground, steeling himself for the phoenix's bite.

It never came.

Instead, it landed on Draco's outstretched arm, the bird's weight feather-light as the warm tail feathers wrapped over his hand. Bemused, Draco felt the touch of phoenix feathers on his cheek as the creature nipped gently at his ear ... his hair. He could hear the creature's lyrical chirrups, the sound making him gasp as it washed over him.

For a moment, Draco didn't move as he realised that a lump was forming in his throat, the sensation a prelude to tears. He took a deep breath, trying to bite back the feeling, wondering why it was happening. As the phoenix touched him, it felt like a huge weight had been lifted from him -- a weight that had dragged him down for years -- and that if he allowed himself to cry, the tears would be of relief rather than sadness.

"I see Fawkes has taken a liking to you, Mr Malfoy."

Dumbledore. Draco recognised the voice without looking.

The phoenix lifted from his arm, fluttering away. But the feeling of peace stayed with him, leaving him feeling strangely content. The young wizard turned to meet the Headmaster's piercing stare, the wellspring of emotion now temporarily under control. "Fawkes?"

"Yes, my phoenix." The creature had settled on the desk, and Dumbledore's fingers scratched its head. "Please sit down. You too, Professor."

Draco had forgotten about his Head of House and when he finally met the normally guarded black eyes, he saw something in them that he didn't understand. Concern? Intrigue? Why couldn't he read Snape like he could everyone else? He sat in the same chair he had a month before and waited. Calm. Impassive.

Dumbledore picked up a scroll of parchment from his desk, reading it quickly before looking at Draco over the top of his half-moon glasses. "I have received a letter from your father."

"My father?" He tried to keep his features impassive but it was difficult to hide his delight at seeing the Malfoy crest on the small parchment seal.

"Yes. He's asked permission for you to go home for the Easter holidays." Draco couldn't keep a little smile from playing on his face. "Ah, I see you are pleased by the prospect. You will be celebrating your eighteenth birthday, won't you?"

Draco nodded. "Yes, sir." He'd been waiting for this, waiting for his father to ask permission, worried that Lucius would stick to his word about Draco's behaviour. That if he misbehaved, any birthday celebrations would be cancelled -- just like Christmas.

"Do you know what your parents have arranged for you?"

The tone of the word 'arranged' was almost sinister, and Draco's eyes narrowed a little as he tried to read the Headmaster's expression. "We've talked about a party."

"Mmm ... nothing like a good party to get things going, especially for an eighteen year old. You realise this means you become responsible for all your actions; you will no longer be expected to do as your parents want." Dumbledore leaned forward. "You can start making your own choices, Mr Malfoy."

"I know, sir."

"And are you ready to make your own choices, or are you going to do as your parents demand?"

"I..." Draco took a breath.

"You don't have to go home."

"Why wouldn't I want to go home to visit my parents?" Draco tried to keep his expression neutral, but it was difficult. He knew damn well what Dumbledore was alluding to and he was determined not to take the bait.

"You have my permission to go, Mr Malfoy, but I don't want you to find you have been given a present you may prefer not to have but can't return."

Draco realised he was clenching his teeth, and his grey eyes flashed in defiance at the elderly wizard. "My parents would never give me something I didn't want." He shot a look at Snape and saw that the man's right hand was resting on his left forearm, just below the bend of his elbow, covering the place where Draco knew both his father and Snape had been imprinted with Voldemort's Mark. He'd seen his father's Mark ... a vague outline, sometimes visible in just the right light, and he remembered, as a child, seeing that same Mark on Snape. Then, over the previous summer, his father's Mark had changed, showing up more clearly as though branded on his skin like a fresh wound. It wasn't until Lucius had made him kneel at the Dark Lord's feet that Draco had considered it might be Voldemort's presence that had made it visible.

He'd wanted to ask his father if it hurt, what it felt like. But the Mark was something he had always been in awe of since the first time he'd seen it. It was a sign of power, of belonging to a group of people who were superior to other wizards. He would study at his father's friends and colleagues and see how they looked up to Lucius, treating him as their natural leader while they all awaited the return of Voldemort. The next generation -- Draco's contemporaries -- treated him in much the same way, as though they saw him as the next leader, and it was a role Draco had always assumed would be his. Following in his father's footsteps, as Lucius had with his own father.

Over his childhood, Draco had longed for a Mark of his own. He remembered drawing it on his arm once and his grandmother hurriedly scrubbing it away, telling him in her firm but loving voice that he didn't need to mar his skin with something like that just to become a powerful wizard. After she died he would still draw it, watching as the ink faded over a few days until it was barely visible. The first time his mother had seen it, she'd been shocked and quickly washed it away, but his father had patted his head and told him that one day he would have a proper one ... that on the day he became an adult, he would be Marked and would join the elite of the Wizarding world. And with paternal pride Lucius had added, "And maybe, my boy, you will be one of the lucky ones to be Marked by the Master himself. Imagine, Draco, Lord Voldemort attending your ceremony and bestowing his Mark on you himself."

Draco absently raised a hand to his chin, fingers rubbing over the spot where Voldemort had touched him, once again convinced the touch had left a scar there.

He straightened, head high ... proud. "I will decide my own future."

"Of course you will, Draco. But sometimes our choices might seem to become limited by those around us. We know it should be our own choice, but we don't want to disappoint those we love by doing something they wouldn't approve of."

"I..." What _did_ make him think he could choose? It had always been made clear that his future path was already mapped out and Draco had never bothered to consider whether he wanted it or not. If he went to his father and told him he didn't want to take the Mark yet, he was sure that Lucius would accept that and not force him ... Lucius never forced him to do anything he didn't want ... but what would his father do if he went home and said he didn't want to join the family business and instead wanted to be an Auror for instance, or study medicine or herbology? Would Lucius understand and let him? 

"Just remember, my boy, that there are always two sides to every story and that there is always more than one choice."

"Really?" Draco hesitated for a moment, suddenly aware that he must guard his words. It would be all too easy under Dumbledore's benevolent gaze to say things he might regret later. To say anything that linked his family with Voldemort would be disastrous. "Why should I need to consider any choices, Professor? I'm going home for the holidays, that's all."

"Of course. But while you are away, I suggest you do consider _all _your options regarding your future." Before the young wizard could respond, Dumbledore held out two small pieces of parchment. "Your train tickets."

"Thank you." Draco studied the tickets -- one for his journey home on the 7th April, the other for the return on the 17th. He gave a half-hearted smile, surprised that the thought running through his head wasn't 'great, ten days away from school', but 'oh no, ten days without Harry'.

"And Draco, I'd like you to take this as well." The Headmaster held out a small leather pouch with a gold drawstring. "You may look inside, but don't touch what is in there."

Draco took the bag and pulled it open; surprise clearly on his face at what was inside -- a small scarlet feature clearly from Fawkes. "Sir?"

"It is a Portkey."

"A Portkey?"

Dumbledore nodded sagely. "It will bring you back to Hogwarts if you should decide to return early."

"Why would I want to do that?"

"Oh, I doubt you will, but nevertheless, why don't you humour an old man and keep it with you at all times. Besides, it's much quicker than the train." He beamed appreciatively. "And remember, you never know when it might come in handy."

Draco raised a sardonic eyebrow. "Yes, sir."

With that the young man was waved from the room by the Head Master.

As the door closed behind him, Draco stood at the top of the moving spiral staircase, which was now spiralling downward, and studied the objects in his hands. Once again Dumbledore had left him feeling confused and uncomfortable. It wasn't what the elderly man had said, but what he hadn't that concerned Draco. Did Dumbledore know something he was refusing to actually tell Draco, or was this whole conversation a ruse to get Draco to admit things about his father?

Shoving the tickets and the leather pouch into his pockets, he stepped onto the staircase. He would have to be careful ... careful of everyone.

********************

Back in the Headmaster's study, Snape turned on the older man, his eyes flashing dangerously. "You should have told him."

"Told him what, Severus? That his father might be planning to let Voldemort Mark him? Do you really think he would have refused to go home if I had told him that?"

"At least he could then decide for himself. You know Lucius won't give him any choice in the matter."

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, piercing blue eyes holding Snape's gaze until he was forced to look away. "Twenty-four years ago I seem to remember telling you in no uncertain terms what Voldemort was planning for you. Did you take any notice?"

Snape took a deep breath, the conversation from all those years ago playing through his mind once again. He often thought of that moment as the crossroads in his life, when he had with typical teenage arrogance ignored Dumbledore's warning and proudly taken Voldemort's Mark. Three years later he had learned to regret that decision with a fervour that still burned brightly even after all these years. He had remained part of Voldemort's army, spying for Dumbledore, feeling the need to do something to pay for all the terrible things he'd done in those years. Seventeen years ago he'd gone to James, warning him that his family wasn't as safe as James believed it to be. James, with classic Gryffindor self-important stupidity had laughed him off and within a month the idiot was dead. 

"No, Albus. But we can't just let him go. Will you take him back into school if Lucius gets his way?"

"Anyone who asks for help will always be welcome here, Severus, you know that. But if Draco takes the Mark willingly and dedicates his life to Voldemort, then you know I will not allow him to risk the lives of the other children in our care."

"If we were discussing Potter, would you be so circumspect. You'd have no compunction about telling him of the dangers." Snape had folded his arms, hugging them to his body. The room suddenly seemed cold and he felt sure every portrait was watching him.

"Harry is a different matter."

"Potter has been mollycoddled since he came to Hogwarts. It's bad enough that we have to count on that idiot Black teaching him. Saints and angels preserve us." The Potions Master got to his feet. "I have homework to mark. Good day, Albus." He turned towards the door.

"If you feel you can do any better, Severus, then perhaps you should offer your services."

Snape paused mid-stride and slowly turned back. "Excuse me?"

"You have more insights into Earth Magic than either Sirius or myself. You gave significant assistance to the only other living person who is an Earth Mage, Severus. Granted, he isn't a very good one, but he does have the gift nevertheless."

Snape's jaw tightened and, hidden in the folds of his sleeves, he clenched his fists so tightly that the nails cut into his palms. "Thank you for reminding me of that, Albus."

"I don't mention this to make you feel uncomfortable. The fact is you do have that knowledge, Severus. Knowledge I am unable to give Harry and which is completely outside of Sirius' experience. If you shared it with Harry you know it would make an appreciable difference."

"You expect me to bother with the boy after the problems he's given me in the past?"

"I expect you to do what you feel is right. Of course, if you feel you can't cope with him, I understand." Snape felt himself becoming indignant at the inference. "But Harry might be your answer to the Draco problem."

"Draco?"

Dumbledore came to his feet. "I'll let you to work that one out. But feel free to assist in young Harry's education if you wish." The old man smiled. "I'll mention it to Sirius."

********************

"What's this?" Harry scanned the sheet of parchment in his hand. Hermione had dragged him to up to her room after dinner, pushed him down onto the armchair and heaped a pile of papers onto his lap. He was currently trying to make sense of the top sheet.

Clearing a space on the small coffee table, Hermione sat down and leaned forward a little. "That is Elvish script."

"I can see that." He leaned back, glancing from the sheet to the animated features of his friend.

"You've got it upside down." Hermione grabbed at the parchment and turned it.

"As if that makes any difference," he tutted, before waving the paper absently. "Hermione, I have absolutely no idea what this says." 

"It's your prophecy. Well, at least part of it anyway."

"Really?" Frowning, he stared at the sheet, suddenly interested in what it might say. "I didn't know you could read things like that." 

"I've been studying in my spare time."

"Yeah, right," Harry snorted as he watched her sort though the books on the table. "In the five minutes you have to spare between Potions and Arithmancy. Why?"

"Why what?" She picked up a rather battered book and placed it on her lap.

"Why study Elvish?"

"Because of this." She tapped the book before opening it to show that the pages were all covered in the fine script. "I found it tucked away in the library and was so intrigued by it I decided I'd try to translate it." Her eyes darted over to her desk and Harry saw a neatly stacked pile of parchments, probably the translated texts. "Of course, I had to learn the language first."

"Was it good?"

"Hmmm?"

"The book ... was it a gripping tale of derring-do?"

She glared at him. "If you must know, Harry James Potter, it's about elementals and their magic."

"Oh, right."

"Fairy folk. Earth spirits. Sprites."

"I know ... I've done History of Magic as well."

"Believe me this isn't some old dry history lesson or even a fairy story for that matter. When I started translating it, I didn't know my best friend was going to be some sort of elemental magic practitioner or that later in the book I'd come across his prophecy." 

Now it was Harry's turn to glare. "I don't do -- what did you call it? Elemental magic."

"It's the same thing, Harry ... Elemental, Earth, call it what you like. It's being able to control the natural forces that are around us."

"And I don't do that either." Hermione raised a cynical eyebrow at him. "Well, I don't!"

"Did anyone ever tell you that in the past, elemental practitioners were able to influence the weather? They could divert the flow of rivers or...."

"Next you'll be telling me I can bring down a hail of brimstone and fire." Harry knew his tone was getting more and more defensive, but he couldn't help it. He didn't want to know this ... didn't want yet another 'gift' foisted on him. When Hermione didn't answer, he let his head drop onto the chair back. "It's nothing like that anyway. Sirius is just teaching me a few spells. I bet you could do them if you wanted."

"I doubt that very much, love." She squeezed his knee. "One day, Harry, you will learn to just accept that you're a special person with some extra-ordinary gifts."

For several minutes Harry remained silent, staring at the ceiling. When he finally spoke there was an air of dejected acceptance. "I just want to be an ordinary person and have an ordinary life and write reports on the thickness of cauldron bottoms."

"So says the boy who's spent his entire time at Hogwarts fighting evil and loving every minute. You'd hate being ordinary, Harry." She reached out and touched his cheek. "You'd be bored out of your mind in no time at all."

"Don't be so sure," he retorted dryly.

"What's it like doing magic without a wand?"

She was holding his wand hand now, rubbing her thumb over the back, and he watched its path for a moment before shrugging. "It's like doing it with a wand but ... more so. It sort of builds up really quickly and sometimes I think it's going to work without an incantation." He looked up at her and saw something in her eyes. Was there just a little fear there? Fear of him? He knew that being able to do magic without a wand was supposed to be a very rare gift, but the last thing he wanted was for Hermione to be scared of him. "Can I show you?"

"Please," Hermione nodded and started to release his hand.

"No." He gripped her hand between his and instead just held her gaze.

Hermione gasped as warmth radiated from Harry's hands, suffusing into her own palm. When he finally let go, she stared down at her hand. There, on centre of her left palm, was a miniature replica of the tattoo she'd magicked onto Harry a month ago. She stared at it for a moment, rubbing absently at it with her right hand. "Wow. That's pretty impressive."

"Wait until you see where the other one is." Harry's green eyes glinted mischievously.

"Harry!" Some of the fear left her at his light tone. She held up her hand, letting the gold and scarlet glint in the candlelight, and thoughtfully studied the fine lines criss-crossing her palm. "Are you scared of it? Of the power?"

"All the time. It would be so easy to do something without meaning to." He flexed his hand and was sure he could feel the energy crackling around him like a static charge. "He can do it, too."

"Who?"

"Draco. He can do wandless magic."

"Malfoy can?" The look on her face was one of disbelief. "Are you sure?"

Harry nodded. "I've seen him use it. You know that red shirt you've been trying to steal?"

"The silk one?"

"Yeah, that one. It started life as denim. He changed it ... just held up his hand and changed it."

"Isn't that typical," she tutted, and Harry recognised her attempt at lightening her own mood. "Using a gift like that for something so trivial."

"He had his reasons." Harry took hold of her hand again, tracing over the lines with his thumb, and told her what Draco had said about wandless magic -- how Draco believed that wands really acted as dampeners, preventing people from tapping into their own innate magic, and how Draco claimed to have trained for many years. "He even said I should learn it because if I didn't I wouldn't stand a chance against Voldemort." He sighed a little. "And that was all before I found out about the prophecy and stuff. Do you think he's right? That I need this ... elemental magic if I'm going to defeat Voldemort once and for all?"

"Harry, how much do you trust him?" She put the book back onto the table and leaned a little closer.

"Draco?" She nodded. "Now, that's a question." Harry swallowed and took a deep breath. "Hermione, I know you're going to think I'm mad or under some kind of spell or something, but he's probably as important to me as you and Ron. Don't ask me to explain it because I can't, I just _know."_

"That wasn't what I asked, Harry love, what I asked was about 'trust'. It's completely clear to me that you are in love..." Harry gave a quick snort of derision at the comment, which she ignored. "But being besotted and trusting are two different things."

"Okay, I understand, but I'm not 'in love' or 'besotted'..." Now it was Hermione's turn to scoff. "He's told me things ... he's been really honest with me ... and I want to trust him. I _need_ to trust him."

"Why? Especially after all the things he's done to us -- to you." 

"Just ... I just..." Harry looked at her, green eyes beseeching. "Hermione...."

"Goodness, Harry, you really are smitten. I've never seen you like this before about anything or anyone."

Harry was only too aware that a light flush was beginning to colour his cheeks. The truth was he didn't know just how he felt about Draco. Did he 'love' him? Did he care that much? Was it possible to go from 'hate' to 'love' so quickly? Did he know what 'being in love' felt like? He wanted to argue the point with Hermione, but he knew that didn't have a suitable response. The only thing he could do was shrug. "I hate this, Hermione. All the secrets I'm having to keep ... the magic, the prophecy and now Draco."

"I'm worried he really could hurt you, Harry. We both know what his father is."

"People can change. Just because Lucius is a Death Eater, it doesn't mean that Draco is or that he will be." There was a growing desperation in Harry's voice and he wondered whom he was trying to convince -- himself or Hermione. "I think he saved my life last night." At the look of disbelief on her face, Harry quickly explained what had happened. "That's what the silver dragon is ... some sort of protection charm."

Hermione's expression left no doubt as to what she felt about the story. There was anger, concern and fear there, and the grip on Harry's hand tightened. "Harry, for goodness sake, why on earth didn't you tell me about this earlier?"

"I've been trying to. That's what I wanted to talk to you about earlier. You know, when Snape gave me that detention. And I don't want what happened to be public. You know what the others are like when I tell them I've taken one of my potions. They don't leave me alone for days. Plus, I was okay when I woke up."

"Have you told anyone else besides me and Malfoy? Ron? Sirius? Or Professor Dumbledore for that matter."

"No, not yet," he sighed.

"What about what happened in Malfoy's room? Have you told anyone about that?" Hermione's voice had taken on a tone that her friends called 'The McGonagall', all it needed was a Scottish accent and it would match the professor's tone perfectly. "You collapsed down there and now you're telling me that you've had visions of Voldemort in your room? Has it ever occurred to you that it might all be Malfoy's doing? That this is all some sort of plot to get you to trust him?" 

For a long moment, Harry could do nothing but look at her. He wanted to be mad at her for trying to twist what had happened, but he knew that deep down inside he'd considered the possibility that Draco might have been involved. "He came to me, Hermione, and looked after me. I know it's hard to believe things can change, but I do truly trust him. And at the moment, I also need him."

"If he hurts you, I swear I will rip his balls off and feed them to him in a nice white wine sauce."

Harry opened his mouth, and then closed it as he shook his head at both the girl's comments and the look of fierce protection on her face. "You know, it would almost be worth it just to see you do that."

"We could sell tickets."

"And Colin could take pictures." They both collapsed in a fit of giggles. "Okay..." Harry finally pulled off his glasses and scrubbed at one of his eyes. "Okay, so let's just say that I might, possibly, be smitten."

"And that if you don't tell either Professor Dumbledore or Sirius what happened, then I am going to."

"I'll tell them. Just give me a couple of days to sort this out." 

"Harry, just how much have you told Malfoy?"

"Nothing yet. He knows I can do wandless magic, but not why or how. He wants to know, though."

"I bet he does...."

"And I want to tell him." Harry's words were firm. Definitive. 

"Don't you think that's rather silly?" Hermione was beginning to fidget nervously. "At least wait until you are sure where his allegiance really lies. If Voldemort finds out about your elemental magic what do you think would happen?"

"What makes you think he doesn't already know?" Harry frowned thoughtfully. "So many weird things have happened since the New Year, maybe Voldemort knows and he's trying to stop me from learning more." 

"Even more reason to doubt Malfoy's sincerity. He comes into your life and everything starts going wrong. What if it was planned that he would turn up at Hagrid's? People know you go there and what better way to get at you than to play on your kind-hearted nature?" 

"Kind-hearted nature?"

"Sure, Harry Potter wouldn't leave someone to freeze, even if it was Malfoy."

"That's ridiculous. Lucius wouldn't risk his own son's life."

"But he knew he wasn't, Harry. He knew you'd make sure Malfoy was okay."

"I...." Harry pushed his hand into his hair and rested his elbow on the chair arm. He knew Hermione was making valid points, and the idea he was being taken for a ride hurt more deeply than he thought possible.

"And Lucius is a Death Eater. We don't know what he would be prepared to risk to get at you, including his own son."

"What if it's someone else who's responsible? Crabbe and Goyle's fathers are both Death Eaters ... maybe they're doing this."

"Are you sleeping with them as well?"

Harry choked and glowered at her. "Please! At least give me credit for having good taste."

"Of course you do." Hermione ruffled his hair. "And that is my point. I don't see any of the other Slytherins throwing you out of kilter like this. It's Malfoy that is making you question everything. I just want you to be careful."

"Okay. I promise I will be." He gave a tired smile. Then his eyes opened wide as another idea suddenly stuck home. He sat up straight, the papers on his lap threatening to slide off as he grabbed for them. "Hermione, what if it isn't a Slytherin? What if it's someone from Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw ... even Gryffindor? I know we always say that Voldemort's followers are Slytherins, but who's to say that there aren't people from other houses on his side?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about."

"It is?" The girl nodded. "You want to talk about Voldemort's followers coming from other houses?"

"Well, sort of. It's connected with your prophecy."

"As in 'When the Millennium is not dead, but dying'?"

"Yes that one. Read this." She reached for the book again, opening the fragile-looking pages at a bookmarked place. Harry could see now that that the pages were handwritten with painstaking care. "Like I said, the book is about elementals. I think some of it is just stories, but there are other bits that I'm sure are like real history. There're still a few words I can't find a translation for, but this bit is so similar to your own prophecy that it has to be the same thing. I've copied it out for you." She waggled a finger towards the sheet on Harry's lap. "And there's a translation as well."

Harry picked up the second sheet and glanced over it, pursing his lips as he read over the wording. "It looks the same, maybe a bit more wordy, but the gist is similar. How old is the book?"

"I have no idea, possibly two or three hundred years. But I'm not sure the age is what's important here. It's the fact it's written in an elemental language that is important. It means the prophecy has crossed into another species and that gives it more credence as having some truth to it."

"Thanks, but I'm looking for things that say it _isn't_ true." Harry had picked up a third sheet, scanning Hermione's meticulous writing as he read it out aloud.

_The Lion will choose his Protector_  
_Who will be the Morning Star's Child_  
_With his Protector at his side_  
_The Lion will heal the land _  
_In the places Darkness has touched_  
_And together they will tame the Serpent._

_But be warned that the Lion will be deceived by his own kind. _  
_The Lion's Counsellor will turn to the Serpent and his words will be false._  
  
"What is this?" His tone had suddenly become serious.

"Ah...."

"Ah? That's all you have to say?"

"There seems to be a bit more to the prophecy. A part that Professor Dumbledore hasn't told you."

"You mean he's lied to me?"

"Not necessarily. Things get mistranslated or partly translated. Sometimes they are passed down verbally so bits get added or taken away. Sometimes a new seer will have a vision that adds new bits or clarifies others." Hermione tapped the page in the book with her finger. "It's possible the seer who came up with this was an elf rather than a wizard and that's why it's in this book and not elsewhere."

"He has to have known about it, Hermione. The book came from the Hogwarts library. Why wouldn't he tell me?"

"Maybe he forgot about this book ... I took it out of the library ages before you told me about the prophecy."

"The one thing Dumbledore doesn't do is forget."

"No, he doesn't. Anyway, read the second stanza again -- the bit about the Counsellor."

Harry raised an eyebrow before reading through the indicated passage. "Okay. _But be warned that the Lion will be deceived by his own kind. The Lion's Counsellor will turn to the Serpent and his words will be false."_

Hermione was nervously playing with a strand of her hair by now. "I think it might be someone who was a Gryffindor." Green eyes widened as Harry stared at her. "The line _Deceived by his own kind, _makes me think it could be someone from our House."

The sigh Harry let out seemed to go on forever. He dropped the sheet, watching as it slipped from his lap onto the floor. "Brilliant ... just what I need. You know, Hermione, you're right, I do have to tell someone about Draco and the emerald and collapsing and what happened yesterday, but all the people I trust ... the people I go to for help ... are Gryffindors. Sirius, Professor Dumbledore, Remus ... hell, even you and Ron. Fuck it, I not only have to fight Voldemort, but everyone else as well."

"Harry...."

"And there's my reason to trust Draco. I bloody-well can't trust anyone else." He suddenly swept at the papers on his lap and stood abruptly as they scattered around him. Neither spoke as they fluttered silently to the floor.

Hermione watched him for a moment before slowly rising to her feet. When she finally spoke, her voice was uncharacteristically hesitant. "Harry, I hope you know that you can trust me ... I couldn't stand it if you didn't."

Harry's face showed exactly what he thought of her comment. "Of course I trust you. I've always trusted you." He leaned forward, winding his arms around her waist. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Hermione gathered him into her arms, holding the dark-haired boy close. "We'll get through this, Harry. I promise."

********************

**_Just after moonrise ... The grounds of Malfoy Manor_**

It was strange, Lucius considered, that a simple carved stone could change the feel of the very air surrounding it. He had already walked several times around the large circular object, daring himself to actually reach out and touch it, to feel the energy he knew pulsated through it. Moonlight picked out the carvings covering the top of the four-foot wide stone, bringing them alive, and Lucius imagined he could actually see them glowing in the darkness.

He stopped on the far side of the powerful object, which had until recently graced the halls of the Parliament at Stonehenge, and looked across it towards the graceful facades of Malfoy Manor. The building shimmered as if in a heat haze, and he was sure he could feel the Hallows Stone connecting with the circle of standing stones surrounding the building.

The manor house was just the latest in a long line of buildings that had been constructed here. The family records dated back more than a thousand years and there were even tales that the Hogwarts Founders were guests while they were planning the school. The catacombs beneath the current structure dated back to the Tudor dynasties, and the Manor, in its most recent incarnation, had been constructed some two hundred years after that following a devastating fire believed to have been started by an idiot Horse Master -- one Edmond Weasley. The families had fought with each other ever since. 

The sheer beauty of the current Manor never failed to impress Lucius and sometimes he even gave silent thanks to Edmond for destroying the monstrosity that had stood there before.

It had been rebuilt just off centre of the ring of standing stones at Avebury in Wiltshire. He could see the stones now, some nestling in the trees and bushes, some out in the open, as powerful now as they had been when the circle was first constructed. Of course, these weren't the stones the Muggles came to see ... no, that circle was a few miles up the road. It was a fake, of course, crafted by his great, great grandfather to trick the locals and keep them away from the real circle and the energy it filled the surrounding landscape with.

His stones -- the _true_ stones -- were hidden by complex spells and unplottable magic. To Muggles, the area was rolling Wiltshire countryside. They would stand and admire the glorious landscape, but for some reason never think to walk over it. Yet another cleverly crafted spell.

It was these stones that currently seemed to be linking with the Hallows. Lucius imagined he could see fine glowing threads linking everything together -- the stone the hub of the huge energy wheel -- and he marvelled at the beauty of that power. The Hallows now stood at the very centre of the circle, where the Earth's own energies flowed close to the surface. He had always known that it was possible to tap into this power, but had never known what key was needed to open the floodgates.

Until now, of course. Until Voldemort had explained that the Hallows was the lock and that his son was the key. He crouched down, his hand drawn almost inexplicably towards the stone.

"Don't touch it, Lucius. It's taken several of my best people to align it just right."

Lucius came to his feet, turning in one fluid movement to watch as Tom Riddle strolled towards him. The man was smiling, but that smile didn't reach the piercing sapphire eyes.

Lucius nodded subserviently. "Master, I...." His words died as a figure stepped out from behind the Dark Lord. He looked like Voldemort's shadow in the moonlight and Lucius felt himself shiver inwardly. Shadow by name ... Shadow by nature. The look Lucius gave Shadow was one of sneering ice. "I see we have a guest. Shouldn't you be looking after your young charges at Hogwarts?"

"Hello, Lucius." The voice was quiet, but strangely commanding. "They won't miss me for a few hours. I've come to check the alignment. We can't have anything go wrong now, can we?"

Lucius felt the nervous tic in his cheek spasm. He hated having this ... person ... creature ... in his home. Hated the cold, almost psychotic monster he and Voldemort had created two years ago. Whenever Shadow visited the Manor, Lucius always felt the need to have everywhere he touched cleansed.

"I've checked both it and the star charts, and the Hallows is locked in perfectly." And five loyal followers had died in the efforts to ensure that it was so he wanted to add. They had been moving the stone when a rogue burst of energy had escaped, incinerating them all.

Shadow smiled and, for a moment, Lucius thought he saw canine incisors. "I'm sure you have. But we both want things to go according to plan, don't we?"

"Of course. Be my guest." Lucius gestured towards the stone. "But you will find it perfect."

"I do hope so, Lucius." Riddle had crossed to the stone and had now crouched down beside it. He touched a finger to the hard surface, which seemed to ripple as though turned to liquid. "Once Shadow has checked things, he'll be putting some security wards on the Hallows. We don't want someone finding it by mistake, do we? Or maybe touching it without realising what might happen." Blue eyes glinted in the moonlight as he turned his gaze on Lucius. "And I expect you to keep this a secret from Draco. He mustn't know his role in our little plan until the appropriate time."

"He doesn't know, Master." Lucius watched as the Dark Lord rose and stepped onto the stone. The strange liquefied rippling flowed around his feet and the air filled with a static charge.

Lucius knew all about Earth Magic. He'd spent years studying the subject and knew that while every wizard could tap into its power by using their wands, only one or two could actually control it ... Earth Mages. He knew that those so gifted didn't need to use wands to focus magical energies and were able to exert that control over the most powerful magical force in the world.

And he knew that Voldemort was one such wizard.

But for all his knowledge, Lucius wasn't one of those gifted wizards. He had tried to teach Draco how to access it, and while the boy had managed to learn wandless magic, his son's skills had proved to be a disappointment. Instead of tapping into Earth Magic, Draco could only work with his own innate magic when he didn't use his wand. It drained the boy, but Lucius insisted Draco keep practicing in the vain hope that one day he might just learn how to do it properly.

But the one thing Lucius had never been lucky enough to experience was the pure, unadulterated power of Earth Magic even though he had lived over an energy point all his life. At least not until this moment anyway.

As Voldemort had stepped onto the stone. Lucius finally experienced what he'd craved all his life. He could feel it rolling off the stone and washing over both him and the ground.

It almost took his breath away.

And this was what he was going to let Voldemort tap into -- this incredible source of magical energy.

"I know you can feel it, Lucius." The voice was at his ear and he shuddered inwardly as Shadow's fingers rested on his shoulder. "Imagine, all this magical energy under your home and even if you wanted to, you couldn't use it."

The nervous tic twitched again and Lucius tried to pull away, but Shadow's grip kept hold of his shoulder. It rankled that Shadow was right. His grandfather had told Lucius about the energy points and leylines that crisscrossed the British countryside. He remembered spending hours with the man while his own father was busy, learning about the standing stones in the garden to the point Lucius felt he knew each one individually.

He had always sensed the power under and around the land of the Malfoy estate, but it made him angry to not be able to use the Earth Magic that protected his Malfoy inheritance. It had been many generations since the Malfoys had produced an Earth Mage, and Lucius had had high hopes that a child of his and Narcissa's would have that ability. In fact Voldemort had told him before Draco had been born that the boy would be special, and that he would have a connection with the magic flowing beneath the Manor. But the boy was nothing more than an ordinary wizard, destined to be nothing more than a conduit -- the key that would open this power for Voldemort.

"How does it feel, Lucius, to be part of the future of the Wizarding world? Both you and Draco will be hailed amongst the greats of our kind." Riddle stood on the centre of the stone, flashes of energy crackling around him. "Imagine walking out here with your son, and the look of pride on his face as he realises that he will be welcomed into our ranks by me personally, and that all my loyal followers have come to watch his ceremony. Then with my Mark on his arm, he will step up here beside me and unlock the link to the Earth Magic for me to use against our enemies. I'm an Earth Mage, Lucius, and that old fool Dumbledore has locked my connection with the power for far too long. When Draco unlocks it again, nothing will stop us, not Dumbledore or that brat of a boy Harry Potter. We will finally be victorious."

********************

**_Monday 16th March 1998 ... Morning ... The Great Hall_**

Breakfast at Hogwarts was always noisy, and Monday mornings more so. It was as though everyone suddenly felt the need to catch up after the weekend; the fact that each person already knew what their friends had been up to didn't seem to matter. Harry's weekend wasn't one he actually cared to discuss with anyone, least of all the public forum of the Great Hall. Instead, he got on with his breakfast and occasionally cast furtive glances across the Hall in Draco's direction. The returned looks left him with a warm glow.

Which was, he considered, a little strange given that he'd woken an hour before feeling like he'd gotten very, very drunk the previous night. He also felt very tired and a little weak, probably because the same dreams he'd suffered on Saturday night had plagued him against last night.

This time things had been clearer and he had remembered both of them in great detail. The first dream had taken place in a darkened room -- there had been a kneeling figure in dark robes and a standing figure behind him. Harry knew he'd dreamt about them before but he couldn't remember when, but this time he knew who they were. It had been Draco kneeling and the figure beside him was the man from the photograph ... David Morrello ... Tom Riddle ... before he had turned into the monster Voldemort.

A third figure had joined them, pale hair just visible under his hooded cloak, and reached for Draco's left sleeve, pulling it up to bare the boy's arm. Riddle had taken a branding iron from the fire, lighting the room. He had brought it down on Draco's forearm, and Harry had woken to the sound of Draco's scream.

Harry had lain awake for what felt like hours, sweat cooling on his flesh as the familiar pain had itched at his scar. It hadn't been as bad as the normal pain, but he could feel the shape throbbing into his brain and ended up taking one of Pomfrey's mixtures before trying to return to sleep.

The second dream had been different, shifting to his cupboard under the stairs. He was the little nine-year-old being punished ... locked in with no light except for a green glow that had solidified and condensed into Voldemort. The Dark Lord had towered over him and hauled him from the little bed before pulling up the sleeve of his oversized shirt.

Harry remembered struggling, but the grip had been so tight and he was such a little boy. He'd stopped struggling as a new light had filled his cupboard -- a bright glowing light like a fire -- and he saw it was coming from the tip of a white-hot iron. The heat from it had grown as it moved toward his arm, and as it had finally connected with his skin, Harry had seen the face of the person holding the iron.

It had been Draco ... but Draco with red hair and brilliant blue eyes.

Harry had woken again and spent the rest of the night wrapped in a blanket in front of the fire in the common room. He didn't understand the dreams and they both scared him. As he'd watched the flames, he'd tried to think of anything but the dreams, but they had both remained crystal clear.

Now, here in the Great Hall in the wonderful light of day, some of the feelings of darkness had left him, but there was still a sensation of cold clinging to him and, despite what the Dream-Draco had done, Harry wanted nothing more than to climb into the safety of his lover's arms.

Draco....

Harry glanced up from his bowl of cereal and found grey eyes resting on him. Grey eyes ... not the strange eyes of the dream, but the boy's real ones with depths Harry had not considered possible. But what about the dream? What about Draco being branded with Voldemort's Mark and then him branding Harry?

And why had Draco had red hair? Hair like....

_Ron._

Harry frowned as he glanced across at his friend, whose red hair was glinting like fire in the morning sun spilling through the windows. Ron was currently arguing playfully with Dean. As if suddenly conscious of Harry watching him, Ron turned and grinned across the table.

"All right, Harry?"

"Yeah, sure. I was just wondering what Snape's got in store for us, you know, with his message about meeting up here rather than down in the Potions classroom, and not bringing any books."

Ron shrugged, blue eyes sparkling. "Who knows with him?"

Blue eyes. Harry had to look away. So many people around him had blue eyes. Why hadn't he noticed it before? Sirius, Dumbledore, Ron ... all with blue eyes. Even Draco had that underlying trace of blue in the grey.

"When's your detention, Harry?" Ron's voice carried across the noisy room and several people from the adjoining tables looked up, ears pricking.

"Thanks Ron. Why not post an announcement if you wanted everyone to know?" Ron shrugged as he crammed a bit of toast into his mouth. "It's tonight, after dinner."

"You know it's Malfoy's fault." This time the voice was louder, loud enough to carry to the Slytherin table where some of the students, including Draco, looked back.

"Ron!" Harry was exasperated. He didn't feel like having a confrontation at the moment, especially not one between his best friend and the person he was currently sleeping with.

"Well, if they hadn't been out practising in the guise of mucking about on brooms, you wouldn't have ended up catching that Snitch. Malfoy was playing with it, so he should have been the one with the detention, not you. But I guess we all know why he didn't get one, don't we?"

"And why is that, Weasley?"

As Ron had ranted on, Harry had watched with growing anguish as Draco had crossed the room. He was now standing behind Ron and Harry could feel the tension rising around the table. Even Hermione, sitting next to him, had her hand on Harry's elbow as if warning him not to get involved.

"Because, Malfoy, we all know you kowtow to Snape all the time. You and your little simpering friends. That's why he lets you get away with everything and Harry ends up getting punished." Ron had risen to his feet and was now looking down on Draco. "Or maybe it's because you give him something nobody else does, you obnoxious little creep."

Draco sneered. "My, my, Weasley. Aren't we coming up in the world of insults these days? Not one but two adjectives, and one of them with three syllables. Been studying with Granger?"

"Fuck off, Ferret, and crawl back with your own kind."

"That's enough!" Hermione was now on her feet, and Harry could see that up on the teacher's table, both Sirius and Remus were watching the unfolding argument. Sirius was already pushing back his chair. 

"Why Granger, always coming to the rescue. How nice for our Sainted Head Boy." Draco grinned mischievously and, as Harry watched, it almost seemed as if Draco had grown several inches and now appeared as tall as Ron.

But Ron held his ground and leaned in, nose-to-nose, and smiled coldly. "You'll get what's coming to you, Malfoy. Mark my words; you're going to be so sorry, believe me."

Sirius was now purposefully walking down the Hall, and Harry quickly came to his feet and leaned across the table. "Pack it in," he hissed. "You'll both be in for it."

Draco turned slowly as if seeing Harry for the first time. "Oh look, Weasley, the Trio is complete." He grinned at Harry, and Harry thought he saw Draco wink at him. "Tell me, how does it feel to be the number three in the organisation?"

"You are so dead, Malfoy. I'm going to see to it that you die slowly and painfully." Ron's voice was almost a whisper, hissed into Draco's face.

"Everything alright, boys?" Sirius had reached the group and was now standing behind Harry, his hand on his godson's shoulder.

Both the teenagers turned as one and stared at the teacher. It was Draco who spoke first. "Yes, sir, we were just discussing today's Potions lesson, weren't we, Weasley?" He looked back at Ron, eyebrow rising elegantly.

Ron opened his mouth, clearly meaning to make some snide remark, but he bit it back and instead just nodded. "Yes, the Potions lesson."

"Well, I'm pleased to hear it's nothing serious." He turned his attention back to Harry and smiled at him. "Can I have a word?" Harry glanced quickly first at Ron and then Draco before stepping away from the table and following Sirius from the Hall.

He was aware of Draco a few steps behind him ... aware of the heat from his body and then the coldness as Draco stopped following him. Once outside and alone, Sirius stopped and turned to face him.

"I got your message about Hermione's prophecy."

"Good." Harry let out a sigh of relief. "I'm sorry I did it like that, sending it to you with Hedwig."

"You could have brought it down to me."

Harry shifted his feet. "I did come down last night, but you had Remus there. I saw him come to your room and, well, I wasn't sure..." 

"About talking to him about this?" Harry nodded. "He might be able to help."

"But Professor Dumbledore said not to tell anyone else."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "So, how did Hermione find out? And I'll bet Ron knows too."

"Well, not about everything or...." Harry fell silent as Snape appeared at the top of the stairs on the opposite side of the entrance hall. "Can I come and talk to you about this?"

Snape glowered as he passed them. "Don't be late, Potter, I would hate to give you yet another detention." He didn't wait for an answer.

"Yes, sir."

"Another detention?"

Harry nodded and quickly told him about the Slytherins' game of broom tag and how he'd caught the Snitch. "So I've got detention after dinner tonight. Sirius, please don't tell anyone about this new prophecy piece until after we've talked."

"Okay, but why?"

The young wizard shrugged. "I don't know really, but I wonder if I wasn't supposed to find out about this bit, and that it was being kept from me for a reason and...." He shrugged again. "To be honest, I'm not sure who I can trust at the moment."

********************

"Good morning."

Snape's greeting caused a low muttering from the assembled students. Never in the six and a half years he'd been teaching the group had he ever said 'good' anything. The Potions Master cast his steely black eyes over the group and folded his arms, hands enveloped in the sleeves of his robes.

The students had gathered in the Great Hall as per Snape's instructions, which had told them to bring only 'yourself and your writing implements'. Harry was fiddling with his quill, while Draco was quietly tapping the feathered tip of his against his chin.

"Today you will be taking a mock practical exam." The words were met first by groans and then muttered exclamations about it not being fair to have this suddenly thrust upon them. Snape gave a hard smile, but didn't respond to the chorus of disapproval. "I will give each pair one potion from the selection you have so miserably been concocting since the start of the year."

Hermione's arm had shot up and she was bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Sir, nearly all of those potions will take longer than our lesson time and...."

"If you will allow me to finish, Miss Granger." He glared at her, the look making Hermione blush. "You will have the whole day to complete the exam, just as you will with real N.E.W.Ts."

"What about our other lessons?" The flush on Hermione's face deepened, but she stood her ground.

"Don't concern yourself...."

"But...."

"Miss Granger, do you wish to join Mr Potter in detention tonight?" The girl shook her head. "Then keep quiet. As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, your teachers are aware of this and will be staging their own mock exams, some of which, you will be happy to learn, will take place during your potions lessons."

Harry looked around the group, which had been rendered speechless by the thought of exams they hadn't expected or prepared for. Even Hermione, with her carefully structured revision timetable looked mortified and Harry knew exactly the thought going through her mind: _I'm not ready for this._

"You will have one hour to write up the ingredients list and preparation details, which I will check before you begin. I will then give you a corrected ingredients list." Snape smirked. "I don't want you to kill yourselves. Then you will have the rest of the day to complete your potions." He pulled a scroll of parchment from his sleeve. "Get into your pairs and form a line."

The last time Harry remembered lining up two-by-two, he had been about six years old and at school. He would line up with everyone else while waiting to go into the classroom, and have to put up with Dudley and his friends pushing, shoving and kicking him as he tried to get past them.

He dropped in beside Draco, close enough to feel the Slytherin's hand brush against his own. Draco's middle finger slipped around Harry's fingers and tugged gently before letting go, the back of his hand resting against the back of Harry's.

They remained just touching, not looking at each other as they stepped in front of the professor. Snape glowered down at them, not even bothering to consult his scroll. "Hmmm, the dream team. You will produce the Night Dew potion using Potter's astrological details from your previous attempt. You will find an astrological text on your desk from which you will be able project that information to today's date."

********************

"What's that?"

Draco watched as Harry picked up the gemstone he'd just placed on the desk. He slid into his seat, on Harry's right, and fiddled briefly with his robes to get comfortable. "It's the carnelian stone we need for the potion. It wards off evil thoughts and psychic attacks, remember?"

"Yeah -- infuse in Star Water for six hours then add to the remaining ingredients." Harry fiddled with it for a moment before raising it into a shaft of sunlight. "Are you sure it's a carnelian? It doesn't look like the one we used before. That one was brown ... like a muddy puddle, but this one is beautiful."

"Carnelians are like that." Draco watched the child-like wonder on Harry's face as he studied the deep red, almost transparent stone. "Mother says the colour depends on how much iron there is in it. This one has a really high content and it's just perfect for Night Dew." He took it back and tossed it in the air, deftly catching it again and gave a sly smile. "So let's get infusing or we'll be here all day and into the night as well."

"Shall I get the Star Water?"

"I've got that as well." He put a small flask on the desk, pulled out the stopper and dropped the gemstone inside. It sank to the bottom and Draco sealed the flask before pushing it toward Harry. "Do you remember the incantation for it? It's your potion after all." 

Harry's fingers closed around the bottle, over the top of Draco's, and he reached for his wand.

"No, not like that," Draco's voice was a whisper. "You don't need a wand." He winked, as Harry's eyes grew wide before flicking around the classroom. Everyone had split into their pairs and were spread about the room, all engrossed in their own tasks. No one seemed to be paying them any attention.

Licking his lips nervously, Harry stared at the bottle. "I'm not sure if I should...."

"Just give it a go." Draco pulled his hand out from under Harry's and placed it over the Gryffindor's wrist as he spoke the brief incantation to remind Harry of the words.

"If it doesn't work, I'll ruin the stone."

"Then we'll get another one and start over again."

With that, Harry nodded and took a deep breath. Draco's thigh was pressed against the other boy's, and he felt Harry's leg brace against his own. As Harry whispered the words, Draco became aware of the energy flowing through his hand. It was the same power he'd experienced in the Archive, and feeling Harry's magic again sent warmth flooding through him. It gathered in the pit of his stomach and made his fingertips tingle.

As the words faded away, Harry gave a shuddering sigh and pulled his hand away. Briefly he entwined his fingers with Draco's. "Did it work?"

The warmth flowed like warm honey through Draco's body and finally settled in his hips, the power of Harry's magic intensely sensual. "I think so." He couldn't help but sigh as the sensation in his groin turned into arousal and he struggled to will away the feeling. "It's working."

Both boys looked at the flask; the water had taken on a luminescence, which the stone had picked up. Harry grinned at Draco, the smile bright and spontaneous. It was a smile Draco wasn't used to seeing directed at him and it made a lump form in his throat.

"How about that." Harry's voice was a cross between surprise, awe and pleasure at his success. "I did it!"

"You certainly did." Draco basked for a moment in The Smile of the Boy Who Lived before reaching for the book Snape had left them. "We better get on with this or we won't get finished in time."

Still grinning, Harry nodded. "Okay, I've written out the original astrological details. If I sort them out you can do the instructions."

Draco shrugged his acquiescence, for once happy to let someone else take charge. The potion's instructions didn't bother him -- he could almost remember them word-perfect from Snape's original lecture and, besides, it gave him the chance to watch Harry work. The dark haired boy was busily flicking through the book, a frown of concentration on his face as he searched for what he was looking for. 

He'd never really 'looked' at Harry like this before. Oh, he'd spent hours studying Harry over the years, but that was with the Gryffindor as his nemesis, working out ways to beat him at Quidditch or in their lessons. But this time it was different. He noticed other things, like the way the black untidy hair tumbled around Harry's neck and how a particular lock curled gently around the base of his ear.

Then there were his glasses. It always used to annoy Draco every time he saw Harry push those wretched glasses up his nose. Why the hell didn't he get them to fit better? But now Draco saw that the glasses didn't actually slip and the constant touching was a nervous habit. He remembered the original glasses Harry had worn when they'd both started at Hogwarts, with their taped up frames. Had they always been too big for Harry and the touching become a habit?

Now he found himself just watching Harry's hands ... Harry's fingers ... as they fiddled with his quill, or turned a page or pushed hair from his face. But especially that single index finger as it pushed up the bridge of his nose to settle those glasses in place. 

"What?"

Draco came out of his contemplation and raised an eyebrow. "Sorry?"

"You're watching me."

"I'm not. I'm checking."

"Checking?"

"That you've got it right."

Harry raised an eyebrow and pushed his glasses up his nose. "Would you like to look this up?"

"No." Draco's left hand rested on his own thigh, the warm honey-like sensation spreading out through his loins. "But let's face it, Potter, Potions isn't your speciality."

"No, but I'm good at Astronomy."

"Really?"

"Really. The moon was full last Friday, so we know how much rowan wood bark to use." Harry's head had raised, his chin jutting slightly, and his green eyes glinting. "Would you like to know about Pluto?"

"Sure." Under the desk, Draco's hand moved from his own thigh and he trailed his nails lightly over Harry's leg. "Tell me about Pluto." 

Harry started slightly at the touch, his own fingers tightening around his quill. "Pluto's in retrograde, so you'll need to increase the amount of black cohosh."

"And Scorpio?" He flattened his hand, cupping Harry's inner thigh, and squeezed lightly. Harry's breath caught briefly, before he exhaled slowly. They were sitting close enough together that their robes covered Draco's movements and he slid his hand further up Harry's thigh until it rested at the top. There he let his fingers curl around Harry's growing arousal, waiting for the other boy to pull away. But Harry didn't; the only outward reaction to Draco's touch was the working of his throat as he swallowed hard, and a faint flush colouring his cheeks.

"Scorpio..." Harry cleared his throat and then continued, his voice determined. "Scorpio is exactly the same as it was before. And...." He dropped his quill and, shifting slightly against Draco's hand, started flicking through the pages of the book. "Jupiter ... don't do that." His voice dropped.

Draco had taken hold of Harry through the thin fabric of his trousers, his thumb rubbing back and forth. "Do what?" His free hand was carefully writing as if nothing was happening.

"Don't. Not here. Someone might see," Harry moved to pull away, but all that did was give Draco better access. "You bastard."

"What about Jupiter?"

Draco could feel Harry hardening in his grasp, and the delightful blush on the dark-haired boy's face became a shade darker as he cupped him. Harry let out a faint moan as Draco's fingers deftly played him, green eyes becoming unfocused as he stared ahead. They both became lost in the moment.

"And what about Jupiter, Mr Malfoy?"

The new, but very familiar, voice broke through the spell and two sets of eyes rose as one to meet the dark cold stare of Professor Snape. Draco was suddenly aware of his own arousal and of the light flush that he knew was on his own face.

"Is Jupiter in retrograde as well, sir?" Draco gave a last lingering squeeze and carefully removed his hand.

"Is it, Mr Potter?"

Harry's eyes were now downcast, looking but not seeing the writing on the page. "I ... I was just checking it."

"Well, Mr Potter." Snape suddenly leaned in close, making Harry look up. "If you paid as much attention to your lessons as you do to Mr Malfoy, you would be an exemplary student. And you, Mr Malfoy..." The older wizard snatched up the sheet of parchment Draco had been writing on and glanced over it. "I suggest you use your hands to go and collect your ingredients while Mr Potter concentrates on his planetary conjunctions."

Both boys muttered "Yes sir" and Draco pushed himself away from the desk.

"Mr Malfoy."

Draco looked over his shoulder. "Sir?"

"Excellent methodology."

"Thank you, sir."

Snape picked up the glass flask, studying the content. "And an exceptionally well cast incantation, Mr Potter."

********************

Draco had always found the Potions storeroom fascinating. He was a tactile person given the chance, and he loved to touch and feel and smell the different ingredients kept there. He liked to run his fingers over the stones and shells and barks, feeling their textures. Or to bury his hands into a bag of rosemary and hold the pungent herb to his nose, breathing in the heady aroma. Even the tiny seeds and non-descript grains held a fascination for him, that from innocuous beginnings such wondrous things could be produced.

The room was windowless, but was lit by special magical lamps. They were only alight when someone walked past, and would then fade as the person moved away. The potions store at Malfoy Manor had the same lighting and Draco knew it helped keep the expensive ingredients at their best by storing them in darkness as much as possible. There were, of course, some ingredients that thrived out in the daylight, and those were stored in another room.

The stacked shelves and cupboards formed lots of nooks and crannies, and he loved just wandering around the room, finding new ingredients he'd never come across before, or familiarising himself anew with ones he'd forgotten. The storeroom at Hogwarts seemed to grow over his years at the school, as if to take into account the new items they were allowed to use each year, and he wondered just how extensive it actually was.

Draco trailed round the loaded shelves, moving deeper into the storeroom as he looked for the right ingredients ... rowan wood to protect against negative energies ... jasmine to heal the aura and to protect a person having prophetic dreams ... vervain to ward off psychic attacks. He toyed with a piece of amethyst for a moment, wondering if it would work with the carnelian. The dark purple crystallized quartz was a powerful protector in its own right, but the carnelian was powerful too. Maybe using them both together would be too much, overpowering the other ingredients to the point that they no longer worked. Still ... he slipped the stone into his pocket.

He found the last of his ingredients tucked away in a cabinet at the rear of the storeroom (expensive flutterby bush root used to help ground the potion's imbiber) and, his arms full, he headed back towards the door. He paused at the doorway, which was blocked by Ron Weasley, who watched him for a moment, blue eyes smouldering with undisguised antipathy. Draco held his ground, not moving out of the way, and finally the redhead stepped to one side, giving him just enough room to pass by.

As he reached the work desk he was sharing with Harry, Draco put down his armful of ingredients and turned back towards the storeroom just in time to see Ron coming out. Something seemed to pass between them -- he wasn't sure what, but he could feel the hatred rolling off the Head Boy in waves.

"Something wrong?"

Harry's voice cut through his thoughts and Draco turned towards him. "No -- nothing. Let's get on with this. Do you want to grate the flutterby root?"

********************

"I trust you all enjoyed your lunch." Snape's voice rang out around the classroom and from the work desks dotted around, faces turned towards him. The Potions Master seemed to shimmer in the haze of steam rising from the cauldrons as they bubbled and spluttered. "You now have three hours to finish. Any questions?" The room remained silent. "Good. Then get on with it." 

From his little corner, Harry watched Snape move to his desk and turn to survey his domain. The beetle-black eyes suddenly turned in Harry's direction and the young wizard ducked down behind his cauldron. The last thing he wanted at that moment was to have Snape breathing down his neck again.

It had been bad enough earlier when he and Draco had been preparing their ingredients. Snape had appeared at his side the moment Harry had picked up his knife, watching intently as Harry had worked.

Having Snape watch him had unnerved Harry to the point he'd almost made a sarcastic retort to the professor along the lines of that he'd had better things to do -- such as dealing with Voldemort -- the past several years than learn how to chop bat livers and skin shrivelfigs. It wasn't that his skills at preparation were bad, but rather that Draco's were so good. It made Harry's normally acceptable work seem mediocre in comparison.

Snape had then spent a good fifteen minutes teaching Harry how to prepare the rowan bark as if he were a first year. Surprisingly there had been no rancour in the man's actions and he had worked through the procedure with quiet efficiency. When he moved on to Dean and Crabbe, Harry had found himself watching the professor, wondering what had happened to the caustic vitriol Snape normally heaped on him.

He was also sure that Snape had spent more time than normal watching him, which was why he had determined to keep out of Snape's line of sight for the rest of the morning. Now, back from lunch, he remained shielded by the cauldron as much as possible. He and Draco were currently standing on either side of the work desk, idly passing the time with occasional comments about potions and Quidditch. The atmosphere between them had drifted into a strangely quiet but very companionable silence; it was different from any of the other times they'd worked together. There had been quite a lot of overt touching as well. Not like Draco's bold teasing under the desk earlier, but deliberate touching of fingers like they had in the Great Hall while waiting for their potion assignment, or walking past each other close enough for an arm to brush against a shoulder.

In fact, the whole lesson seemed to have evolved into some sort of extended erotic foreplay and Harry wondered if Draco was as aroused by the whole experience as he was. It wasn't the fast hard arousal of sex, but a pleasant warmth in the pit of his stomach like he'd just finished a warm Butterbeer or a mug of hot chocolate after a cold Quidditch practice. Now, with nothing to do but keep an eye on the gently simmering potion, he was sketching idly on a piece of parchment, occasionally glancing up whenever Draco moved to make some correction to the fire under the cauldron or to stir the mixture. He watched the way Draco's fingers curled around the spoon handle, remembering the feel of them on his skin and the way they had coiled around him earlier.

What was it Hermione had said to him the previous day? That he was smitten? He didn't like to consider that she might be right, but then....

"You're allowed to stir it, Potter."

Harry looked up with a start. They hadn't spoken for some time and the voice came as a surprise. He saw humour in the grey eyes watching him and gave a cocky half smile in return. "You do it so well, Malfoy, and I'd hate to spoil it after all your hard work."

"I doubt even you could do that -- at least not by stirring." Draco held out the large spoon he'd been using. "If it's going to be ruined, it'll be because of the way you chopped the vervain."

Harry took the spoon, brushing close to Draco as he moved past him. He began to stir, carefully mimicking the actions of his partner. "My vervain was beautifully chopped."

Draco snorted and, leaning briefly against Harry, he fished a piece of greenery from the mixture. "Small even pieces." His free hand ran up Harry's back and paused briefly on his shoulder before he moved away.

Harry sighed and continued stirring. "I blame the stuff you got from the storeroom. It was almost impossible to cut evenly."

"Enough stirring." Draco touched his wrist. "Check the heat."

With a nod, Harry adjusted the flame with the flick of his wand before leaning on the work desk. He picked up his quill again and added some flames to the cauldron in his sketch. "It's going to be a shame after the Easter break when it's all over."

Draco looked up, eyes narrowing at Harry's words. "When what's over?"

"This?" Harry gestured lazily, taking in the whole room with the wave of his hand. "The potions stuff. We'll be finishing the revision and it will be back the way it is. You know ... no more pairs."

"Oh, yes." Draco's gaze turned thoughtful and he rested both elbows on the table, leaning closer to Harry. "Will you miss it?" 

Harry's brow furrowed momentarily as he tapped the tip of his quill against his nose. When his eyes rose to meet Draco's, there was lightness in them that was mirrored by the slight twitch of his lip as he smiled. "Yeah, I think I will."

"Good." Grey eyes rested on the sheets of parchment on the table between them before rising back to meet green again. "I'll miss it as well. You know, this...." he gestured between them. "And everyone else working together." As he spoke Goyle's voice echoed around the room followed quickly be a retort from Finnigan. "Well, almost working together."

The two boys sniggered.

"I've been thinking," Harry leaned in closer. Their voices had been quiet all day, and they continued that way now. Not conspiratorial whispers, but soft, just loud enough for each other to hear.

"Is this supposed to be me?" Draco waved the sheet of parchment Harry had been drawing on. "Thinking about what?"

"This potion." He snatched the parchment away. "And no it isn't. It's just a person making potions. It's really wasteful and hard work."

"The potion or the drawing? It looks like me." Draco finger tapped on the paper, which Harry had now turned face down.

"It's not you -- just someone who's blond stirring at a cauldron. This potion, we've spent all day making it and how long will it last? Three days. Then the ingredient quantities change and a whole new batch needs to be made."

"True. But that's the nature of the potion." Draco sorted though the parchments on the desk and found the one with his instructions on it. "Do you like drawing me?"

"I've only ever done it that once."

"Twice, Harry. On the train ... and again here."

"There has to be a way to alter it though -- change something so that it last longer." Harry leaned closer again, turning the parchment so he could read through the ingredients. "It's all the astrology stuff that's the problem, isn't it? If the ingredients could be in set amounts instead of depending on where the person's stars are then it would last a lot longer. Why is that so important to the potion?" He raised his eyes slightly, looking at Draco through his untidy fringe. "And yes, I do like drawing you."

Draco frowned, chewing thoughtfully on a fingernail. "Well, we've used different ingredients this time than before. Plus, the version everyone else has made will be different from this one. The person who invented it must have had a reason for that."

"A reason for making it so personal?"

"Ummm. Yes. I guess there could be another way." Draco reached into his pocket and pulled out the piece of amethyst he'd collected from the store earlier. It glinted in the light of the flames beneath the cauldron as he handed it to Harry. "We'd need to do some research. You know, find out why the person who invented it went down the astrology route. Would you like to draw me again?"

Harry held the piece of crystal between his hands aware of the warmth as the energy flowed through it. "This would work instead of the carnelian." He placed it back on the table. "Yes I would -- you know properly."

Draco moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue, watching as Harry subconsciously mirrored the action. "Okay, you name the time and place, and bring your sketch pad." He reached for the spoon and began stirring the potion again. "We could use revising the potion for our final project if Snape lets us work together. Background, possible alterations to make the mixture longer lasting, that sort of thing." Grey eyes glinted playfully. "Would you like that, Potter?" 

"Yeah, I guess I could put up with you for a bit longer, Malfoy." 

"Care to illustrate the project?" Draco put down the spoon and turned to lean on the desk.

"I could. What do you want? Pictures of the plants?"

The grey eyes met Harry's directly. "I want lots of things, Harry."

********************

"You have one hour left."

Draco glanced briefly in Snape's direction before turning back to the mess that their potion seemed to be turning into. "It shouldn't look like that."

Harry stared into the earthenware container. "It doesn't look like the last lot we made. Maybe it needs to be strained again."

Draco sighed. Harry was right; it looked nothing like the previous batch. "The instructions say twice."

"But it's still cloudy -- isn't it supposed to become clear?" Harry reached a finger towards the lukewarm mixture and dipped it in. The finger found its way into Harry's mouth and he licked it clean of the liquid. "And it's not as sweet than the last time we made it. Try it."

The urge to grab hold of Harry's finger, dip it back into the pot and, indeed, 'try it' warred inside Draco with his own more sensible sense of self-preservation. It didn't help that Harry had sucked the finger back into his mouth a second time and was looking at him with a mischievous grin. In fact Draco was close enough to Harry to take hold of the finger without anyone noticing, but instead he used his own finger and watched in delight as a flush spread across Harry's cheeks and the green eyes flickered away.

The fact Harry could go from mischievous flirt to demure innocent in seconds was one of the things that Draco found such a turn on and he could feel the warmth right now even as he checked the potion. He'd love to reach down and find out just how Harry was coping, or maybe drag him into a dark corner of the storeroom and 'try it'.

"Maybe it's supposed to be like this."

"The potion?" Draco dragged his mind back from images of Harry spread delectably on his bed, open to Draco's touch and letting Draco do exactly what he wanted.

"Mmmm. You know, the different quantities would alter how it looks. When I made it with Ron back at the beginning of the year it was a sludgy mess. We could ask Snape."

"No, not yet. It's still warm, maybe it'll change as it cools." 

Harry shrugged and dipped his finger back into the pot. "Okay. You know, it really isn't that bad ... sort of peppery." Draco noticed that Harry had moved and his back was now to the class, shielding both of them from prying eyes. "Have another taste." The stout index finger wiggled in front of Draco's mouth. All he had to do was lean forward a couple of inches.

Grey eyes flicked around the class. Snape had his back to them, admonishing Neville Longbottom about something and most of the other students seemed to be more interested in that rather than what was happening in the corner. Draco leaned forward, taking the finger into his mouth and sucked at the digit, his tongue moving to remove the last traces of the mixture as Harry's eyes briefly closed. They opened again as the finger slipped wetly from between Draco's lips and he watched in something close to despair as Harry sucked on the digit again. He let out a hiss of breath as he felt himself harden. 

"What do you think?" Harry's voice was a whisper,

"I think that you should put that cloak of yours to good use and come and see me later."

"Really? I've got a detention with your Head of House."

"Then you'll be down here anyway."

"Draco..." Harry paused briefly and gave a nervous little laugh as he picked up his quill, needing something to fiddle with. "You know, I can't believe we're standing in the potions classroom having this conversation."

"Let's face it, Harry, there isn't anywhere much safer. You said that yourself yesterday morning, remember."

Harry nodded, the conversation playing in his mind once again. "But what if..." he glanced briefly in Ron's direction, reluctant to actually mention his friend by name. "What if someone overhears?" 

A single eyebrow rose elegantly on Draco's face, lost momentarily in the soft hair falling across his forehead. "He'd ... they'd have to have excellent hearing." Draco paused before continuing. "Harry, would it really matter?"

"Would it matter if people found out?" He watched as Draco nodded slowly just once. "Well...." He straightened, the nib of his quill splattering black ink over a sheet of parchment. "I ... I don't know. I mean you've said before that it would be dangerous if they knew." 

"Could you face it? For people to know that you were having sex with Draco Malfoy?"

"Is that all it is?" Harry looked down at the mess he'd made on their potion instructions before slowly raising his gaze back to Draco's. "Just sex?"

Harry was acutely aware of the silence that lingered between them, the type of silence where time seemed to slow almost to a stop. He watched as Draco's fingers roamed over the desktop, fiddling briefly with the desk edge and somewhere in the back of his mind, Harry wondered if Draco might want to touch him.

Then quietly, almost imperceptibly, Draco shook his head and whispered, "No."

Harry finally remembered to breath. "I don't think I'd mind, but," he gave a anxious laugh, "my friends don't even know I'm gay yet." 

"Would you want them to know?"

"Would you?"

********************

"Finished." Draco held up the flask in which the blood-red mixture glowed and effervesced slightly.

Harry took the flask and grinned. "Thanks to my excellent Star Water."

"That, plus just leaving it to cool and settle."

"And remembering what the extra black cohosh would do to it."

Grey eyes meet green and Draco nodded. "We make a pretty good team, Harry."

"A good team?" Harry put the flask down and tapped a finger on the tabletop. "Draco, is that how you really see us? Together, as a team?"

Draco frowned; Harry's question was one that he'd debated long and hard over the last few days -- in fact since that fateful night in Hagrid's hovel. The truth was he'd realised he was getting very proprietary about Harry. If the Gryffindor had told him the truth (and Draco had no reason to doubt him), then he had been Harry's first, and only, lover. His first everything. There had been an emotional attachment between them even before that -- granted it had been hatred and distrust, yet there was no denying that those emotions were as strong, if not stronger, than the friendship Harry shared with Weasley and Granger. Or for that matter what Draco shared with his own friends -- Vince, Greg, Pansy amongst others. But none of them had ever gotten to him the way Harry did even from that first short meeting back at Madam Malkin's all those years ago.

A team? Is that what he wanted? To have some sort of commitment to Harry? To _be_ with him as what? Friend? Partner? Lover?

He thought about his family and the prospective wife his father had lined up for him. Of the Malfoy name and business he was expected to uphold and be part of. Of Harry's friends who would, no doubt, be horror-struck at the idea of the Boy Who Lived associating with a Slytherin. Of Tom Riddle's warning that he shouldn't side with Harry and to remember to whom he owed his loyalty.

He looked at Harry now; at the way Harry was watching him, the slight tilt of that dark messy head and the depth of feeling in those green eyes. Draco could still remember how fiercely protective he'd felt when he'd found Harry near death ... how scared he'd felt at the thought of losing him.

And the truth was he wanted Harry. Wanted them to be a team. No ... not a team ... a partnership. With the two of them as equals ... equals in everything from magic to sex.

Did Harry feel the same?

He took a breath, ready to respond, but his words were cut short by Snape's appearance at their desk. Draco felt his jaw tighten in frustration and annoyance at the intrusion. Why was it that whenever he felt ready to make a decision, something always managed to get in his way?

The Professor studied their potion carefully, testing both the texture and the look before mixing a small sample with a powder Draco recognised as a testing substance. The liquid hissed for a moment before becoming completely clear.

"You appear to have succeeded, despite seeming to spend most of the day doing nothing but talking." Snape watched as both boys looked briefly at each other before looking away. His lip twitched slightly. Clearly there was more to the boys' relationship than that of adversaries. Maybe it was the same as his own had been with....

Quickly Snape pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind. Now was not the time to dwell on the past. What was important was keeping Draco safe and protecting Harry. He poured some of the mixture into a small glass, measuring off an amount against the scale on its side. "How satisfied are you with your work, Mr Potter? Would you care to try it?"

Harry's eyes rose from studying the floor to fix on the glass. "It's supposed to protect against psychic attack. Why should I take it, sir?"

"A good potions maker will always be confident enough in his work to take his own preparations. Isn't that so, Mr Malfoy?" The professor raised an eyebrow as he stared at Harry, the glass still held out towards the boy.

"Yes, sir."

"What else does Night Dew protect against, Mr Malfoy?"

Draco suddenly looked up. "Bad dreams."

"Correct."

Cautiously, Harry finally took the glass from the professor's hand and raised it to his lips. He coughed and pulled a face. "It's turned bitter."

"That is because of the Star Water infusion. You should bear in mind that things which are good for you often aren't pleasant. I suggest you bottle the remainder and take three doses a day for the next two days." Snape looked across at Draco. "Well done. You have both passed. Remember to read up on protection magic and associated potions for the theory exams. You may clear away your things and leave." The Potions Master stepped towards the next desk, but suddenly turned back. "Mr Potter, a moment of your time. There is something I want you to bring to your detention tonight."

Draco watched the pair move to Snape's desk where the professor seemed to be talking quickly while writing something on a sheet of paper. Around the room other people were started to clear up and Draco quickly gathered up the unused ingredients before heading to the storeroom to return them. He would talk to Snape about working with Harry on a joint project tomorrow. The idea of being able to associate with Harry in public made him smile and he thought that just maybe this was a way to get others used to the two of them together. One of the many daydreams he had of Harry lingered happily in his mind -- of he and Harry walking back from the Quidditch pitch, brooms over their shoulders, chatting away happily about the match they'd just taken part in.

That was what he wanted. No more hiding -- not from anyone.

He wandered through the storeroom, returning items and had just put the flutterby root back in the cabinet at the rear when he thought he heard someone behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, but the room was empty and with a shrug, he turned back to the cabinet.

"Hello, Draco."

The light above his head disappeared, plunging the room into near darkness as the low voice sounded suddenly in his ear. Before he could move, Draco felt a hand tug in the back of his robes. It twisted in the material, pulling him off balance, the last of the ingredients spilling to the ground.

"Having fun?"

The grip pulled him back until he felt the clasp cut into his throat and a warm body press against him. He tried to turn -- to see who held him -- and thought he glimpsed red hair. "Weasley, you idiot, let me...." He started to speak, but the brusque sarcastic comment never made it to his lips, as the words of a silencing spell, hissed in his ear, effectively rendering him voiceless.

"That's better, isn't it? You silent for once in your life. Maybe I should make it permanent and silence your big mouth for good. Does he like that ... your big mouth?"

A hand tugged in Draco's hair as his assailant whispered a second curse, the cruel fingers yanking at the blond strands in time with each word, each tug hard and painful, bringing tears to Draco's eyes. He opened his mouth to cry out, but there was no sound, not even a hiss of pain. As the new curse was completed, he found himself robbed of any strength and realised that the only thing keeping him on his feet was the arm holding him around his midsection. The hand in his hair moved to cup his chin, tugging his head sharply back.

This wasn't like _Petrificus,_ however, this was complete helplessness and Draco realised he was scared -- really scared.

"Tell me, Draco, are you deliberately disobedient or just stupid? Do you do this to annoy me? To make me punish you?" There was a chuckle, deep throated and powerful. "Because I will punish you if you try to either deceive me or play me for a fool." The grip on Draco's chin tightened. "What, no reply? But of course you can't can you? Such a shame. But perhaps now I have your full attention, because clearly you didn't listen to me the other night did you?" 

The arm holding him upright squeezed tighter, long fingers clasping his side tightly, and Draco tried to struggle against the hold. It was pointless and all he could do was wait for his assailant to do whatever he planned. He could feel the warm breath on his neck and knew the person had to be taller than he was, and the body he was pulled against didn't feel overly muscular or fat.

It had to be Weasley, but the voice sounded different ... deeper ... more powerful ... more like Tom Riddle. But that wasn't possible. 

Was it?

"So I want you to listen to me one last time, dear Draco. I warned you about being friendly with a certain person. I told you that while you could use him, anything else was out of the question. Yet you went back to him, didn't you?" The fingers tightened around Draco's ribs so tightly he thought they might break, the pain showing clearly on his face. "You went to him and helped him -- helped my nemesis -- you saved his worthless, sorry skin. He should be powerless by now, but because of your meddling, he is still able to wave that wretched wand of his and make it work.

"You. Are. Mine. Draco. Never, ever forget that. Your life is mine to give as I did when I saved you as a baby. It's also mine to take as well -- as and when I see fit." His attacker chuckled. "I don't think you want to know what happens to turncoats. What I do to those who betray me."

"Of course, I could be wrong and you are really just using him. Is that it, Draco? Are you using him and planning on ridding the world of him for me? If that is the case, then you can bring me a gift. Bring me his wand and we will be able to celebrate your birthday in exquisite style."

Then, just as suddenly as he had been attacked, Draco found himself released and he dropped like a dead weight to the floor. For many minutes he didn't move ... couldn't move ... the spell still immobilising him. All he could do was lay sprawled on the floor, his cheek pressed against the cold stone while in other parts of the room little pools of light showed that other people were entering and leaving with no idea of his plight. Each time a little light appeared he was torn between wanting to call out for help and the fear of being found like this ... helpless.

Draco Malfoy ... always in charge ... always in control ... helpless on the floor, cowering in the dust ... trembling with fear. They'd never let him forget it if they found him like this.

Slowly the spells began to dissolve, releasing him from their hold, but they left his body aching and his neck sore from where his head had been pulled painfully back, and any efforts at standing failed miserably. It was the most he could do to pull himself into a sitting position and brace his back against the cabinet. Sitting there, he gulped for breath and realised his shivering had nothing to do with the cold.

He was shivering with fear.

What the hell had happened? How could he have let his guard down to the point that someone could not only sneak up on him, but cast spells without him being able to defend himself? He recognised the spells. They weren't ordinary and the person casting them hadn't learned them at Hogwarts. The caster had been a sadistic bastard as well, augmenting both spells with lingering after-effects that left residual shards of pain lancing through his muscles and Draco painfully pulled up his knees, dropping his head onto them.

He didn't want to even think who it was that had attacked him. There may have been a glimpse of red hair and school robes, but the voice had, without doubt, been the honeyed tones of Tom Riddle. That voice was engraved on Draco's mind after the nocturnal visit of the Dark Lord to his room.

Riddle ... Voldemort ... Morrello. He finally had to admit that the three were one and the same. The person who had watched him play Quidditch with Alex was the Dark Lord. And if he admitted that, then he also had to admit his father was a Death Eater and expected that at some point Draco would follow him into the order.

And he knew exactly what his father's response would be to the Dark Lord's command to get Harry's wand. Lucius would expect him to do so without question, and once upon a time Draco wouldn't have given a moment's thought as to whether or not he would obey.

What the fuck was happening to his life?

"Malfoy?"

He looked up with a start as a circle of light illuminated a figure striding into the storeroom.

Harry.

Draco tried to pull himself to his feet before the other boy could reach him. But his trembling legs had no strength, and he remained sitting on the cold stone floor.

"Malfoy, do you need some help with putting stuff away?"

Harry stepped round the shelving and the area was filled with a soft glow from the light above. "Draco?" The Gryffindor's face reflected first surprise and then concern as he found Draco on the floor. "What happened? Are you okay? Should I get Snape?" He was down on his knees, reaching out, before Draco could respond.

For a moment, Draco leaned into the warmth, his forehead resting on Harry's chest. He could feel the other's hands on his shoulders, moving to surround him. This was the person who'd been part of his life for so long now, he couldn't remember ... didn't want to remember ... life without him.

When they had hated each other, he'd never doubted his beliefs or his father's plans for his future. Yet here he was now rapidly falling in ... was he falling in love? And doubting everything his father had ever told him. Hadn't he tried to convince himself the morning after that fateful New Year's Eve that any relationship with Harry was out of the question? That they would both end up suffering if they tried to be friends ... lovers? That he couldn't protect himself, let alone Harry.

His fingers twisted into Harry's shirt. This was the person the Dark Lord wanted him to betray and Draco knew he couldn't. He cared what happened to Harry, and the need to keep him safe was beginning to take on a life of its own. Voldemort had warned him in no uncertain terms what he would do to Draco if he remained friends with Harry. But worse, the Dark Lord had left Harry for dead just three days before and who knew what he might do if Draco continued to disobey. He needed to keep Harry safe from Voldemort and at the moment he could see only one way to do that.

He had to let Harry go.

No, even worse, he had to send him away.

"I slipped," Draco managed to answer, his voice sounding hoarse, "and fell." He disentangled himself from Harry and looked up into green eyes, shining with concern. The hands returned to his shoulders and Draco pushed them away. "I said I was fine." The tone of his voice was suddenly brusque.

"Oh." Harry's expressive features betrayed his concern and confusion over the sudden change in Draco's temperament. "Are you.... Are you sure?"

"Yes." Draco hauled himself to his feet, straightened his robes and managed to cultivate a look of scorn on his face. "Did you see anyone else come in here?"

"After you?" Harry's brow furrowed. "Snape called me over, so I wasn't looking. But most people are clearing away, so I guess they've all been in. Why?"

Draco shrugged. "Nothing."

"Well, like I said, I wasn't watching all the time." Harry reached out again, but his hand was pushed away. "Draco, what happened?"

"I slipped."

"Well, you look terrible. All pale...."

"Harry...." Draco leaned back against the cabinet again, took a deep breath and stepped sideways to get past. "Just forget it, okay?" With that he strode purposefully out of the room with Harry's voice sounding behind him. First "Draco?" then a little louder "Malfoy!" 

Then silence.

Ignoring everyone about him, Draco quickly collected his quills and spare parchment. He could almost feel Harry striding across the classroom after him, an aura of emotional confusion spilling out from the Gryffindor, and Draco knew he had to put distance between them quickly or he might just cave in. Without looking back, he headed for the door.

"Malfoy!"

A few heads turned as he left the room, but it was only Harry who followed him out into the corridor.

"Draco, stop a minute." A hand grabbed at his shoulder. "Damn it, Draco! Wait!

He flinched at the contact, but did stop, steeling himself to meet those green eyes. It was exactly the expression he most dreaded -- distress and bewilderment flowed in equal measure. Quickly Draco wiped any emotion from his own face, instead gazing at Harry with what he hoped was cold distain. "What?"

"Come on, this is ridiculous. What did I do?"

"Nothing. This just isn't going to work."

"What isn't?"

"You and me. Us." Draco took a breath and continued, repeating his earlier words. "This isn't going to work."

"You're...." Harry's mouth dropped open and for a second he tried to form a coherent sentence. When it finally came, his voice betrayed exactly how he felt. "You don't want me?"

"Potter...."

"Don't call me that! Not after everything that's happened today ... everything you said and did ... the things I said...."

The tone made Draco shiver and it almost destroyed his resolve. He didn't want Harry to hurt like this, but he could still feel the residual magic lingering about him and Riddle's words resounding in his mind. His claim on Draco, and his threats against Harry.

_You. Are. Mine. Draco. Never, ever forget that._  
_Are you using him and planning on ridding the world of him for me?_  
_Bring me his wand...._  
  
When he finally formulated a response it was accompanied by his best sneering smirk. "Stop taking life so seriously, Potter. We weren't having a relationship anyway."

"Oh, right." Harry's green eyes flashed with barely contained anger. "Then what do you call it?"

"It was just a bit of fun. But it won't work. I'm a Slytherin and you're a Gryffindor for a start. We both want different things and in the end we're just going to end up hurting each other." Draco suddenly leaned in close, inches separating them. "My life has been planned out and if you think I'm going to change it for you, then you are very much mistaken." Desperate to get away, Draco turned, ducking as Harry reached for him again.

"Draco, I know something happened in the storeroom. Please, talk to me."

"Just leave me alone, Potter." He strode off, his words echoing back down the corridor. "Get the hell out of my life!"

------------------------------------

_If I ever hurt you,_  
_Your revenge will be so sweet..._  
Robbie Williams -- _Come Undone_  
  
-------------------------------------------------------

**Chapter 8: The Art of Protection:** Snape makes demands. Harry gets artistic. Draco submits.

-------------------------------------------------------

**Special thanks**

**To my Betas** (in alphabetical order): Milena, Olivia, Nancy, Plumeria, Stacey, Shezan and Tara. I don't know where I would be without these people. Special mention must go to _Olivia _for her help with plotting, for listening to me wibble and for her endless patience, and to _Plumeria_ for her help with the perennial ratings problems.

**To everyone at LiveJournal** who have answered my stupid questions over the last few months.

**To everyone on at Worlds_Colliding **for their continued support and inspiration.

**Artwork:**

I have several new pieces of artwork drawn for this chapter. I am so pleased with all of them and consider myself very lucky to have such talented people willing to draw for me. If anyone should feel like illustrating a scene from a previous chapter I would love to see it.

The new artwork is linked in the appropriate places throughout the chapter. If these links don't work, please check out the following: 

The art by _Lisa Rourke_ and _Duckpuppy_ wasn't actually drawn for Resolution, but both artists have been kind enough to let me link to it. _Milena's_ artwork for Little Harry was drawn for Chapter 6, but I forgot to put the link into the chapter. It fits in with this chapter as well, so I have included a link.

I also have had two new pieces of artwork for chapter 1. _Milena_ has drawn Draco on the sofa playing with Harry's hair and _Alice_ has drawn Harry hanging out Draco's wet clothes. Both are lovely and I'm looking forward to adding them to the relevant chapter.

**Bhanesidhe's artwork:** Harry's light, Ron and Draco  
**Milena's artwork:** Little Harry, Potions Storeroom, Harry's sketch.  
**S_Star's artwork:** Draco.  
**Lisa Rourke's artwork:** Best Friends (Harry, Hermione and Ron), Ron, The Potions Master  
**Duckpuppy's artwork: **Draco touching Harry's scar.  
  
There are two Yahoo groups associated with my stories:

The adult group for Resolution can be found at: Worlds_Colliding: The Restricted Section

The general group can be found at Worlds_Colliding. The R-rated version of Resolution and my non-slash story Coming of Age can be found here.

Any reviews are more than welcome, either here on the Fiction Alley Board (click on review), to me at frances.potter@worlds-colliding.co.uk or feel free to post your comments at Worlds_Colliding.


	8. Barriers

**Title: Resolution. Chapter 8: Barriers (6/?)**

**Author name:** Frances Potter

**Author email:** frances.potterworlds-colliding.co.uk

**Category:** Slash (Harry/Draco), Humour, Romance, Angst

**Keywords:** Harry, Draco, 7th year, Slash

**Spoilers: **All books

**Rating:** NC17. Slash. Male/Male sexual relationship. Language. Adult themes.

**Summary:**  
_res·o·lu·tion, noun -- solving of doubts, problems, questions etc. The Concise Oxford Dictionary_  
When you've spent six years fighting evil, all you really want is a quiet time. But when your name is Harry Potter the chances of that are very slim. Exams, friends, lovers, enemies, Quidditch, birthdays, the war and Draco all conspire to make Harry's final six months very, very complicated and the end of term a long way off. Slash (Harry/Draco)

**Chapter 8:** Barriers. Snape makes demands. Harry finds out about his past.

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

The concept of Earth magic and seeing stones are both based loosely on ideas in "The Amtrak Wars" books by Patrick Tilley (published by Sphere).

**Dedication:To ****Olivia**, who deserves co-author credit on this chapter. Her help with role-playing Sev and Harry made it possible for me to get on with story. Not only that but her continued help with plotting and keeping Draco true is something I couldn't cope without.

**Author's note:** _Resolution_ was started before the publication of _Order of the Phoenix _and is based on the canon of PS/SS, CoS, PoA and GoF. While certain canon facts from _OotP_ will be incorporated in the story (such as spells and locations), the events of Harry's 5th year in _Resolution_ are **NOT** the same as those in **OotP**.

Amongst other things, _Resolution_ makes the following assumptions:

1. Sirius Black is alive.  
2. Voldemort's return at the end of GoF is not common knowledge to the Wizarding world and many people, including the Ministry of Magic still refuse to believe it.  
3. Lucius Malfoy is still considered to be a pillar of the community and any connections he might have with the Dark Lord remain a secret.  
4. Draco Malfoy was never picked as a prefect.  
5. Wizards and witches come of age at eighteen.  
6. Wizards love to ski!

------------------------------

**_One day you will ask me what's more important, your life or mine? And I will say, my life, then you will walk away, never knowing that you are my life._** -- Unknown

------------------------------

Chapter 8: Barriers 

**_The Present ... Monday 16th March 1998 ... Late afternoon ... The Potions classroom_**

"Remember, read the first chapter, Mr Potter. And don't be late."

"Yes, Professor." Harry nodded curtly at the Potions Master and headed back to his desk. Pulling a face, he dropped the leather-bound book Snape had given him. Having to take detention with the man was bad enough, but this time Snape seemed to be more eager than usual for Harry to take his punishment.

"Read the first chapter, Potter," Harry's tone was suitably mocking as he mumbled to himself. "As if I've got time to read anything between now and then." Lips pursed in a thin line, he stared at the title of the book -- _Potions Preparation for the Dilettante._ What the hell was a 'dilettante' anyway? No doubt it was some sort of reference to exactly what Snape thought of him and also hinted at what he was likely to face when he arrived back in this classroom after dinner for his detention.

Yet more potions making.

Harry sighed and began tidying the desk. Well, at least there was one redeeming factor about having to come back down to the dungeons. Perhaps he would put his Invisibility Cloak to good use and meet up with Draco when Snape had finished with him. He glanced towards the storeroom where the other boy was still putting the leftover ingredients away, and the memory of the way Draco had touched him earlier drifted back into his mind. The thought brought warmth he could feel deep in the pit of his stomach. It pulsed with his heartbeat. In fact, he could feel the beat right down to the end of his....

"Okay, Harry?"

A hand gripped momentarily on Harry's shoulder and he jumped in surprise. "Ron." The heat in his stomach shot up his body, turning into embarrassment that his friend had caught him deep in lustful thoughts about the Hated Enemy. "Did you finish your potion?"

"Yeah, no thanks to Bulstrode, though. Sometimes I think she's been memory charmed. What did Snape want?"

Harry tried to look nonchalant as he shrugged. "He wanted to talk about my detention. Not only detention, but pre-detention -- he expects me to read the first chapter of this before I see him." He pointed at the book.

"Hard luck, mate." Ron's response was sympathetic as he twisted the book towards him. "But don't worry, we'll get our own back with Malfoy soon enough. It was his fault after all."

"Hmm." Harry glanced at the storeroom entrance. Yes, in a roundabout way Draco was responsible for Harry getting the detention ... and Harry could think of a few ways to get his own back, but not in the way Ron was probably thinking.

"Fancy a game of chess later? We haven't played for ages, not since New Year."

Harry sighed. "I'm not sure I can cope with anything more intellectually challenging than Exploding Snap at the moment."

"Okay, I'll see if the others want to join in. Hey, we could have a Gryffindor Dorm Debating Society meeting and the discussion topic can be...." Ron leaned in closer. "Potions capable of ridding the world of Snape once and for all."

A wicked grin flickered across Harry's face at the prospect of discussing the Potions Master's demise. "Excellent, but I don't know how long he's going to keep me." The hopes of a get-together with Draco began to fade, as did the warm glow. Ron was right; it had been ages since he'd spent an evening with his friends. "Got any idea what a 'dilettante' is?" He tapped the front of the book.

"Nope. You'll have to ask Hermione ... or Snape." A grin lit Ron's face and he gave Harry a friendly punch. "Good luck, I don't know which one I'd rather -- Oh fuck!"

He watched as Ron suddenly sprinted across the room to where Millicent had knocked over a bottle, the contents of which were clearly eating into the tabletop. The girl's panicked cries attracted the attention of several students, who were now desperately trying to mop up the mess, and Snape was hurrying over. The professor's words cut through the commotion. "Idiots. How many times have I told you not to spill that on wood?"

Harry watched in amusement, delighted that for once it was a Slytherin who was feeling the professor's wrath.

Talking of Slytherins ... Harry glanced at the storeroom for what seemed the thousandth time. What the hell was keeping Draco?

Shoving his hands into the pockets of his robes, Harry crossed to the room and entered the darkened interior.

"Malfoy?" The surname slipped out easily, Harry's own sense of care making him use it in a place others might hear. "Malfoy, do you need some help with putting stuff away?"

He moved deeper into the room towards a soft glow from a light near the rear of the room. As he stepped round the shelving into the light, he froze at the sight of Draco slumped on the floor. "Draco?" Eyes opening wide in alarm, he dropped to his knees in front of the boy and reached towards him, words coming out in a tumble of concern. "What happened? Are you okay? Should I get Snape?"

Without thinking, Harry gathered Draco into his arms and studied the upturned face. Draco was pale -- so pale it looked like he'd seen a ghost. He'd always pale-skinned compared to Harry, but this time his face was ashen, grey eyes wide in stark relief to his pallid skin. The blond leaned forward, his forehead settling against Harry's chest.

Draco was trembling -- Harry could feel it -- and when his fingers sneaked inside Harry's robes to twist in his white shirt, Harry realised that the trembling was from fear. Harry's hand caught briefly in the blond hair and he leaned into it, eyes closing for a moment, as he whispered words that were lost in the soft silky texture.

"I slipped and fell." Draco's mumbled response was hoarse. Then everything changed as he disentangled himself from Harry and pushed him away. "I said I was fine."

Harry gasped at the sudden change in Draco's temperament. "Oh." The Slytherin had gone from trembling fear to cold disdain in seconds and, as Draco straightened, Harry was reminded of the old days when the face before him would twist in contempt. And here it was again. "Are you -- are you sure?"

"Yes." The look of scorn on Draco's face as he came to his feet made Harry's heart sink like a lead weight. It was as if nothing had ever happened between them. "Did you see anyone else come in here?"

"After you?" Harry frowned thoughtfully, trying to remember whom he'd seen. "Snape called me over, so I wasn't looking. But most people are clearing away, so I guess they've all been in. Why?"

Draco shrugged, his eyes shifting round the dark room as if looking for something. "Nothing."

"Well, like I said, I wasn't watching all the time." Harry reached out again, wanting to feel Draco's warmth against him and to bring colour back to those pale features, but he was pushed away again. "Draco, what happened?"

"I slipped."

"Well, you look terrible. All pale...."

"Harry...." The name was spoken almost with desperation and for a moment Harry thought he saw something in those grey eyes. He reached out again, but Draco took a deep breath and sidestepped out of Harry's reach. "Just forget it, okay?" With a purposeful step, the Slytherin strode from the room.

"Draco?" Harry took a step before shouting louder after the retreating boy. "Malfoy!"

Nothing. Black robes blended in with the darkened room and soon even the blond head was no longer visible. Harry tracked the boy's journey out of the storeroom by the magical lamps flickering on and off as Draco passed beneath them until finally the only light in the room was the one shining down on Harry.

Confused, he bounced nervously on the balls of his feet. Something had definitely happened here in the storeroom. He could feel magic in the room, not the natural energy of the ingredients, but something else. A lingering signature that was familiar and yet different, somehow twisted from its natural state to something else ... something tainted and corrupted. And it had been wrapped around Draco, like a tendril clinging to his body, leaching away all the sunlight and joy from the boy. Harry could feel it, like a coldness that ate into his heart, and he recognised it as being the same magic that had permeated his own room less than forty-eight hours ago.

The same coldness. The same sense of despair.

And even worse was the icy atmosphere it seemed to create between him and Draco. It was as if they'd never shared anything together. As if they were still enemies. What had happened to the boy who had touched his hand earlier? Run fingers up his leg? Touched him with such delicate firmness?

Well, whatever had happened, he wasn't going to let Draco walk away without some sort of explanation. Squaring his shoulders, Harry strode out into the classroom just in time to see Draco collecting his quills and spare parchments. Then, without looking back, the Slytherin headed for the door.

"Malfoy!" Quickly Harry collected his few belongings and set off after him. A few heads turned as they left the room, but no one followed them out into the corridor. "Draco, stop a minute." He grabbed at the Slytherin's shoulder. "Damn it, Draco! Wait!

Draco flinched away, but did stop, finally meeting Harry's gaze. For a moment Harry thought he saw a glimmer of emotion deep in the grey eyes, but it was gone almost as quickly as it came there, replaced by.... Harry swallowed, shocked by the condescension that filled the stare.

"What?" The voice was as cold as the look.

"Come on, this is ridiculous. What did I do?"

"Nothing. This just isn't going to work."

"What isn't?"

"You and me -- us." The grey eyes flickered to Harry's face before moving to stare just over his shoulder. "This isn't going to work."

"You're...." Harry's jaw dropped and for a moment he didn't know what to say. Was Draco finished with him? How could it end just like this when they'd been so close all day? Okay, so things hadn't always gone smoothly over the last few months and maybe Harry still wasn't convinced that Draco was always honest with him, but the truth was he'd kept more than enough from Draco, too. No, it couldn't end like this. Harry didn't think he could bear it if things went back to the way they had been in the past.

An icy fist clutched at Harry's insides, twisting his gut, his voice betraying how he felt. "You don't want me?"

"Potter...."

"Don't call me that! Not after everything that's happened today. Everything you said and did ... the things I said...."

"Stop taking life so seriously, Potter." Draco's sneering smirk was almost like a physical slap in the face. "We weren't having a relationship anyway."

"Oh, right." The hurt welled up from the knot of ice in Harry's stomach and turned into anger as it fed the flush he knew was colouring his cheeks. "Then what was it?"

"It was just a bit of fun, but it won't work. I'm a Slytherin and you're a Gryffindor for a start. We both want different things and in the end we're just going to end up hurting each other." Draco suddenly leaned in close and for a moment Harry thought he was going to be kissed, but the touch never came. Instead the grey eyes stared into him. "My life has been planned out and if you think I'm going to change it for you, then you're very much mistaken."

Harry reached out again, but Draco ducked away, turning his back. "Draco, I know something happened in the storeroom. Please, talk to me."

"Just leave me alone, Potter." With that, Draco strode off, his words echoing back to the stunned Gryffindor. "Get the hell out of my life!"

"Malfoy!" As Draco disappeared round the corner, Harry started after him, but stopped just before the junction. The corridor led to the Slytherin dungeons and a group of third years had come noisily down the stairs from the Entrance Hall and were following in Draco's wake. As much as he needed to go after Draco, the last thing he wanted was some sort of public fight. That would just make things even worse.

Not, he reasoned, that it could get any worse. Watching the point where Draco had disappeared, he ran a hand through his hair and, with a huff of something that was a cross between annoyance and trepidation, he rested the other hand on the wall. This was completely ridiculous; how the hell could everything change in twenty-four hours? In less than an hour for that matter?

"Harry?"

He looked back over his shoulder as Hermione caught up with him and simply shook his head.

"What is it? What's going on?"

Waving a hand in the general direction the Slytherin had disappeared, Harry sighed. "It's Draco...." He dropped back against the wall, resting his head against the stone. "Everything was okay and then suddenly he's gone weird."

"Weird? How?"

"Like he's gone back to how he used to be."

"Well, I'm not...."

"Hermione, something's happened and I...." He fell silent as he saw Ron striding towards them. "I'll tell you later."

"But...."

Harry shook his head silently, eyes flicking towards their friend. "Later," he mouthed.

"What's wrong?" Ron had walked past and was glaring along the corridor where Draco had disappeared. "What's the Ferret done now?"

"Nothing." The conspiratorial look Harry gave Hermione was missed by their friend. There was no way he was going to discuss Draco with Ron. The redhead would blow a fuse if Harry told him Draco had just announced he was splitting up with Harry, especially as Ron didn't even know they were together. "It's nothing."

"Sure," Ron snorted as he sauntered back to his friends. "Mark my words, Harry, he's not going to be happy until he's turned you over to his father. I bet the git is planning something, you know, looking to get famous by being the one to give you to You-Know-Who." He folded his arms. "I heard Nott saying Malfoy's going home for Easter, so at least you won't have to put up with him for two weeks."

"Really?" Harry's face fell momentarily as realisation struck. Draco was going home? Of course he'd known about the birthday since working out Draco's birth chart, but he'd forgotten the possibility that the Slytherin might go back to Malfoy Manor before the end of the school year.

Why hadn't Draco told him? Harry pushed himself away from the wall and fell into step with his friends as they began walking towards the stairs that would take them back up to the entrance hall. He glanced down the corridor as he passed it, wanting to do nothing more than to go after Draco and hold him safe ... away from Malfoy Manor and away from Voldemort.

Ron shrugged. "According to Nott, it's Malfoy's birthday and he's having some big shindig. You know what that means?"

Harry stopped, one foot raised onto the steps. "That he'll be eighteen?" The tone was tinged with sarcasm.

"Sure, that, but for the past seven years he's been going on about how wonderful he thinks You-Know-Who is. We all know that his dad's a Death Eater. So, put two and two together and you have a Dark Marked Ferret." Ron had climbed the stairs as he spoke and he stopped, now several steps above the other two and looked back down. "Q.E.D."

Hermione frowned. "Are you saying that just because he's going to be eighteen, it means he'll end up being Marked?"

"Stands to reason, doesn't it? At eighteen we're considered adults. We can use magic without getting one of those letters from the Underage Magic people, we can vote, stand for office in the Ministry, play Quidditch professionally and even Apparate. So what better time for Malfoy to be admitted into the Order of the Death Eaters? And what better opportunity than some swanky party at his over-inflated excuse for a manor house?"

Harry opened his mouth, wanting to respond, but he wasn't sure just what to say without it becoming clear just how he felt about Draco. The dreams that had plagued him the previous night came crashing back to haunt him, and he felt physically sick at the thought of something happening to Draco. Was that the reason for Draco's sudden change? Had someone gotten at Draco, just like they'd invaded Harry's dreams?

"Hey, Harry...."

He looked up to meet Ron's gaze. "What?"

"If we're lucky, he won't come back."

"Won't come back?" Harry's voice was a whisper. As Ron's words sunk in, he realised he was shivering. Won't. Come. Back?

"Yeah, just imagine, no Ferret right up to the time we leave." Ron had been rummaging in his pockets and groaned. "Bugger, I've left my Head Boy badge behind." He jumped down the steps. "Won't be a minute."

As the redhead disappeared, Hermione leaned in close to Harry. "Now, what the hell is going on?" She clutched at his arm.

Harry realised he was clenching his jaw, almost grinding his teeth. "If I knew that, I'd tell you. Look, make my excuses to Ron; I might have to skip dinner." He turned, taking another step up the staircase, but his journey was halted by Hermione's ever-tightening grip.

"Harry, where are you going?"

"To get my cloak -- I have to find out what's going on."

"No! I'm not going to let you go wandering around the Slytherin dungeons. It's dangerous."

"Well, he's not going to come to me, is he?"

"And you've got a detention with Snape. If you don't turn up, he'll give you another."

"Fine ... sod the bastard. He'd probably give me another one tomorrow anyway. This is important." With that, Harry pulled away, striding up the stairs two at a time as Hermione's desperately hissed calls followed after him.

His mind still on getting to the dungeons and just what he would say to Draco, Harry rounded the top of the stairs at a run. Within two strides across the Entrance Hall, he stumbled into something solid, staggered back and would have landed on the floor if strong arms hadn't grabbed him. The book and papers in his hands spilled to the floor, scattering around the feet of Remus Lupin.

"Whoa, Harry, slow down there. Where's the fire?"

"Professor Lupin!" Steadying himself, Harry looked from the person he'd crashed into, down to the broken bottle of ink that had splattered on the floor tiles and both their lower legs. He looked back up again. "Sorry."

The older man smiled softly. "It's 'Remus' outside of classes, remember?" He winked. "At least when no one else is about."

Harry gave a small smile. "Okay. I'd better clear this up before Filch finds it." He rummaged quickly for his wand. "Oh." Lupin had already pointed his wand at the mess.

"You're lucky, Harry. This is one thing magic can clean up. Though I think the laundry will have to get the ink out of your trousers." He crouched down. "I'm not sure about the book though."

Mouth opening in concern, Harry took the potions book from the professor. The edges of the pages were stained with drops of ink and he opened the book to find it seeping into the pages. "Damn it," he hissed.

"Problem? Is it a library book? I can explain to Madam Pince if you want."

"No. It belongs to Professor Snape."

"Oh dear."

Harry sighed. "I'm going to be in detention for the rest of my life."

"Don't panic just yet. Let's see if Dobby has something that might fix it."

"I'm supposed to read the first chapter before detention tonight."

"Oh yes, Sirius said Severus had picked on you again. Something to do with flying?" Harry nodded. "Well, let's not worry about our favourite Potions Master for the minute." The professor gave Harry's shoulder a paternal squeeze. "Sirius left a note for you in the Gryffindor Common Room. He said you've got something to discuss, so he's arranged for the three of us to have tea in his rooms."

"He has?" Harry frowned, remembering the conversation with his godfather at breakfast. It seemed a lifetime away now and hadn't he told Sirius he didn't want to discuss Hermione's prophecy with anyone else just yet?

Remus nodded. "And when Dobby brings tea, we can ask him about the book. So, are you free?"

"Well..." he glanced quickly back towards the staircase. He wanted to talk to Draco ... no, _needed_ to talk to him, but he quickly realised Remus was already steering him away from the stairs.

Draco stared into the mirror, grimacing as his fingers prodded gently at the skin of his shoulder. The damage caused by Voldemort -- or whatever it was he'd managed to conjure up two days ago -- had faded over forty-eight hours to four dark pink crescent-shaped marks. But since the events in the storeroom, the wounds had flared to life again. It had begun as a dull ache when Harry had arrived and had gotten progressively worse. By the time he'd managed to reach the safety of his own room, it hurt so much that he'd expected to see open wounds in his shoulder, but on the surface there was now nothing, not even the little marks. Beneath the skin, however, it felt like thorns were spearing deep into his flesh.

It didn't help that he'd been waylaid in the common room by a group of fifth and sixth years wanting to set up a second Slytherin Quidditch team because half the team would be leaving in June. As he listened to them, Draco had been sure he'd felt a breath on his neck and for a moment ... one brief, wonderful desperately hopeful moment ... he'd thought Harry had been there just as he'd been before. But there had been nothing else, no more warmth, and Draco knew he had been mistaken.

He sneered at his reflection. "You've blown it this time, Draco."

The look on Harry's face -- no, the multiple looks ranging from shock to disbelief to anger -- came flooding back, and Draco knew that walking away from Harry had been one of the most difficult things he'd ever done in his life. It felt like a piece of himself had been lost along with the other boy and that he couldn't get it back without taking Harry as well.

Flexing his arm, Draco grimaced again as the movement made the pain flare in his shoulder, reminding him just _why_ he'd walked away. He was doing it for Harry's own safety. He was doing it because if he stayed with Harry the risk to both of them was just too great.

With a sigh, he moved to his desk and sorted through the little potion phials he'd retrieved from a drawer earlier. Maybe things would be different when he returned to school after the holiday. He would get the chance to talk to his father and perhaps finally understand what was going on. After all, didn't he deserve to know the identity of his father's spies?

Jaw tightening, Draco sat at the desk and dropped his head into his hands. The potions he needed had all been used up and the last thing he felt capable of doing right now was making more. He gave a bitter laugh, if he tried he'd probably end up killing himself and perhaps then everyone would be happy.

Pushing the phials away, he folded his arms on the desk and leaned forward to rest his forehead on them.

What about Voldemort?

Had it really been the Dark Lord who'd been in this very room a few days ago? And what about in the storeroom? Had _that _been the Dark Lord as well? Or was the whole thing someone like Weasley playing tricks? Draco couldn't decide which possibility scared him more, because if it was Weasley, then the Gryffindor was a much more powerful wizard than Draco thought.

The wounds beneath the flesh of his shoulder began to throb in time with his heartbeat, and Draco pressed his face harder into the crook of his arm. With a little sob, he finally gave into the pain.

"... Then Sirius chucked James into the lake. You should have seen Lily's face." Remus was chuckling at his own story. "She was livid and refused to talk to either of them for days."

"I did not shove him! He tripped and fell." Sirius looked suitably irked for a moment before breaking into a broad grin. "But I will admit to the fact Lily wouldn't talk to me." He leaned in towards Harry. "Your mother actually slapped my face."

Harry's mouth dropped open in surprise. "She did?" The idea that his mum might hit anyone, especially Sirius, seemed completely out-of-character with his perception of her. In his mind she was always gentle. But then, he remembered, his estimation of his father hadn't exactly been what he'd imagined either.

Sirius was rubbing at his left cheek. "She had a mean right hook, Harry. Believe me, no one wanted to mess with her when she was angry ... our Lily was one fiery redhead."

"And she could flick a mean wand as well," Remus ventured. "She could charm just about anything and anyone."

Harry reached for another cake. He'd been listening to stories about the Marauders and his mother for nearly two hours now and it had been brilliant as each little snippet added to what he knew about his parents. Even though the Potters seemed to be as famous as some other Wizarding families, the information he'd found about them had been sparse in the extreme. Sometimes it felt like all the information about the family had been erased from the records when James had died. "Where did we live? You know, in that first year."

The two men looked at each other than back at Harry and it was Sirius who finally answered. "At Godric's Hollow mostly -- that was where the family home used to be."

"Oh," Harry shrugged. "I thought we'd only gone there towards ... Halloween."

"No." Sirius shook his head. "The house had been in the Potter family for a long time and that's where I went to live when I left home. Your grandparents took me in and treated me like another son."

"And I spent lots of time there as well," Remus added. "After the wedding, James and Lily got a flat in London so they would be close to work, but they still spent most of their free time down in the country. Lily loved the area. All those wild cliffs and the sea."

Harry sat up straighter as the two men talked and finally uncurled his legs, sitting properly in the saggy old armchair. "Did they move out there when I was born, then?"

"Well, not full time." Sirius stared at the fire for a moment. "Your mum carried on with her charm work, which she did mostly at Godric's Hollow. She researched charms for the Auror division at the Ministry, working out how they'd been created, what type of wand was used and how to counteract them. James was working as an Auror so he was away a fair bit. Your grandparents looked after you, and sometimes I'd take you out as well." Sirius looked back at his godson and his eyes narrowed in concern. "Harry ... what is it? What's wrong?"

"My grandparents." Harry's voice was quiet, almost below a whisper. "They were alive? I thought they'd both died before I was born."

Sirius opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed it again and glanced briefly at Remus. A look passed between them before Sirius looked back at Harry. "Harry, I thought you knew."

"Knew what?" Harry's mouth suddenly felt very dry.

"They died the same night as your parents." The silence after Sirius had finished talking went on for an eternity. "Harry?"

"I just --" The dryness seemed to spread to Harry's mind and he felt like all his insides had suddenly become clogged up and useless. Voldemort had not only wiped out his parents, but his grandparents as well. He'd ended up with the Dursleys because the Dark Lord had destroyed his family and even taken Sirius away from him for over twelve years.

But within the thoughts of death, there was another thought surfacing -- his grandparents had known about him. They had watched him for his first year and cared for him. "I just didn't know. Nobody ever talked about them, so I thought...." He took a deep breath and released it slowly. "Was it Voldemort? Did he kill them as well?"

"We don't know for sure, Harry." Remus' soft voice was soothing. "No one really knows what happened that night ... except the Dark Lord and nobody's asking him. There was never any proof they were in the house because their bodies weren't found and that's why they were never mentioned as victims. The truth is we know they were there because James spoke to Sirius earlier that day and told him, but the authorities still say they are missing."

"Was there anyone else? You know, at Godric's Hollow, who died?"

Sirius shook his head. "We were supposed to be there as well that night, but we got held up. When I arrived it was already too late. The house and gardens were in ruins -- you could feel the splintered magic for miles. I found James first, then Lily. Hagrid was there and he helped find you." He reached out a hand, resting it gently on his godson's arm. "For a while we couldn't find you and thought they'd taken you. It was only later, when the Aurors arrived, that they started getting some idea of what had actually happened with Voldemort."

"Oh." Harry had been staring at the floor, fixated on the pattern on the rug. Now he looked at the hand on his arm, and then finally raised his eyes to meet Sirius again. "Do you ... are there any pictures of my grandparents? With me? I know what they look like from the photos Hagrid gave me, but there's none of them and me together."

"I don't know. Remus?"

The other man shrugged. "There wasn't much left, Harry."

"Okay." Harry took a deep breath. He felt that he should feel really upset by all of this, but the emotion running through him at that moment was closer to anger than grief. Anger that yet more people had been taken from him before he'd even had chance to get to know them. With a hint of desperation, he began dredging the depths of his memory, trying to find even the tiniest impression that might be a memory of his grandparents. It was the same thing he'd done when he'd found out the truth about his parents, and the process was equally as pointless. The memories of a one-year-old were almost impossible for him to find.

And that was what made him feel grief. However, that sadness wasn't for the dead -- it was for himself because he'd never known them.

"Harry, are you okay?" Sirius had slipped to the floor to kneel in front of Harry, reaching out a hand towards him. "We should have told you before now. I'm sorry."

"It's okay." He leaned briefly into Sirius' hand, which cradled his head before straightening. "Who knows, maybe one day I'll get to ask Voldemort personally just what happened." He looked from one adult to the other. "Thanks. You two are the only contact I have with all of this ... my mum and dad's friends. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Remus patted Harry's arm before resting the hand on Sirius' shoulder. "You know we're here for you, Harry. Never forget that."

Dinner at Hogwarts was always noisy and Severus Snape hated it.

It was the only meal of the day when all the students were supposed to eat at the same time, breakfast and lunch both being more staggered. At least at breakfast the little horrors were still half asleep. By lunchtime they were often rushing from morning to afternoon lessons, but in the evening the students normally had had time to wind down from study, which meant they were irritatingly boisterous. Having hundreds of hungry children clamouring for food, eating with their mouths open because they couldn't wait to tell their friends something, and spilling things made Severus shudder inwardly.

He hated having to be on duty to keep an eye on all the noisy brats. Hated the smell of all the food. And hated having his own digestion interrupted by having to deal with the problems the students inevitably caused. Given a choice, he would much rather be in his private quarters having a leisurely dinner with a nice glass of wine, followed by sitting back with his feet up with a good book and an interesting glass of brandy to round the day off.

At least he wasn't sharing the duty with either Black or Lupin, which was always an even bigger nightmare. Those two still acted like children themselves ... especially Black ... and they let the students get away with just about everything.

He glanced across to Pomona Sprout, who was supposed to be sharing duty with him, but the woman seemed more interested in talking to Flitwick than in keeping an eye on what was happening at the long House tables. The sound of sudden raucous laughter made him snap around to fix the Hufflepuff offender with a stare, and he was pleased to see the second-year looking suitably admonished. At least some people were still properly cowered by his presence it would seem.

Without thinking, his gaze travelled over to the Gryffindor table and down its length to where the seventh-year students were sitting. Granger, as always, was engrossed in some text, but she also seemed very aware of what was going on about her. She was currently still looking at the book while waving a hand in the air and carrying on a discussion with Finnigan. Rumour had it that the two were dating, but what such an intelligent young woman would see in Finnigan, Severus had no idea.

He was transported back twenty years to a similar scene at that table when Lily Evans would read and chat at the same time, green eyes flicking from the page to smile at Potter and Black, or to talk with Lupin and Pettigrew, just as Granger was doing with her own friends right now. The two were similar in many ways, Severus decided, as he studied the current Head Girl. Both were Muggle-born, though he knew from some research that this just might not be the case for either of them. Both were incredibly talented witches. They cared for the oppressed.

And both seemed to have fallen for pointless, untalented Gryffindors.

At least Granger hadn't become involved with Potter. That really would be history repeating itself. And after what he'd seen going on between Potter and Malfoy, the likelihood of either of those boys making a 'traditional' match seemed more and more remote. Of course, he knew from experience that what happened in school didn't always translate into the grown-up world, but given the history between the two boys, it seemed unlikely they would fall into anything just for the fun of it.

Severus cast his lowered gaze in the direction of the Slytherin table, running down the length of it until he reached Draco. The boy had been particularly quiet this dinner time, and he would occasionally look surreptitiously at the Gryffindor table, no doubt looking for Potter who, for some reason, had decided not to join the other students. As always, Draco's expression was completely guarded, his true feelings hidden beneath years of practice at deceiving those around him. It was a shame the boy didn't also realise he often deceived himself as well. Severus wondered if Draco was pleased or angry not to have Potter to sneer at across the hall, especially after the way they had fawned over each other all day in Potions. Of course, that didn't marry up with whatever had happened in those final few minutes of the lesson when Draco had stormed out of the room (if a Malfoy could ever be said to 'storm' at anything) and Potter followed shouting so loud the gods in heaven probably heard him. Potter could use some lessons in deception ... or at least subtlety.

Another memory surfaced to join the one of Lily. It was of himself storming from the room (Snapes did 'storm') and of James Potter running after him, demanding that he stop, followed by an argument in the corridor.

Fortunately, neither Black nor Lupin had seen what followed. But Pettigrew had, his ratty little face peering around the corner as Potter had tried to pull up Severus' sleeve again ... tried to see what he'd _thought _had peeked out when Severus had unfortunately pulled his shirt sleeve back without thinking.

Severus shook himself mentally, trying to clear what he thought were long-forgotten memories from his mind. That was all in the past and what he needed to do now was concentrate on the here-and-now. Dumbledore had given him almost carte blanche to deal with Draco, and Severus knew that short of locking the boy up in a warded prison to prevent him ever going back home the only way to help was to persuade Potter to intervene. If the two were having some sort of relationship, then it would be easy. Potter cared little for his own welfare, but the safety of his friends would one day become his undoing. If the Dark Lord caught one of the Golden Boy's friends and threatened Potter with killing them, Severus doubted that the boy would be able to watch that friend die for the greater good. Maybe, Severus wondered darkly, he should save the Wizarding world the trouble by removing all who meant something to Potter. That way the boy could just get on with killing Voldemort without the agitation of worrying about his friends.

He looked from Potter's friends to the would-be lover and wondered what Potter would give up for Draco. Even if it didn't happen at the boy's eighteenth birthday, Severus knew that sooner or later Draco would take the Dark Lord's Mark and then it would be too late for him. A person was Marked for life, even if they chose to betray their master. Severus knew only too well that his own Mark remained like a permanent part of his body, inextricably linking him to the person who cast it. There had been times when the pain from it had been so bad, that Severus had been tempted to hack the limb off, but he knew that the Darkness from it had woven throughout his body. He could cut off the Mark, but the link would remain to forever connect him to the Dark Lord even though he'd walked away from the caster before either Potter or Malfoy had been born.

His Mark hurt now ... the aftereffect of Voldemort's continuing little game with him, punishment for betraying his master and turning to Dumbledore. Severus could imagine the scene wherever the Dark Lord currently was, something would happen to annoy him or he would just be bored and looking for entertainment. So he would send out the Earth Magic equivalent of Cruciatus or some other pain-inducing curse to those that had betrayed him. Severus could always tell how bored or angry Voldemort was by how much pain he suffered and how long the aftereffects took to dissipate.

Today had been different, Severus remembered. No short, sharp punishment, but a lazy day-long agony that had woken him with something that felt like a headache and had remained through most of the day, enough to make him feel ill and testy, but not so bad as to take to his bed.

The punishment had ended now, but the remnants of it would continue for the better part of twenty-four hours (if he were lucky), or for several days if the Dark Lord was feeling particularly vindictive. Being within the safety of the Hogwarts wards did help a little, and Dumbledore's protective magic also made a difference. Without those two things, Severus knew he probably wouldn't survive the pain. But it still ate away at his resolve; each attack was more and more difficult to deal with and he understood how Voldemort had made people go mad in the past.

There were ways of counteracting the Mark, some more successful than others, but in the end, Severus knew only two things that could help him and both of those involved asking for Harry Potter's assistance. He smiled grimly. Well, he could ask _any_ Earth Mage, but considering there were only two alive at this moment and one of them was responsible for the Mark in the first place, his options were very limited.

Voldemort's Earth Magic, limited as it was (Severus had helped his master with potions to enhance his magic back when he was one of the man's followers) had been the catalyst for the Mark that still burned not only on his arm but also on hundreds of other Death Eaters. It was the Earth Magic that let the Dark Lord keep in touch with his followers, punishing and rewarding as he saw fit. Potter's own version of the Magic was supposed to be more powerful and if the boy chose to, he could shield and protect those about him.

Potter could imbue potions with his Earth Magic for Severus to use. They wouldn't stop Voldemort's punishments, but they would help with the excruciating aftereffects and stop them from lasting so long. Potter and potions were not, however, a healthy mix. Severus knew the boy could make them, but his concentration span was limited and he doubted Potter would be interested in a life-long commitment to make the potions for someone he disliked intensely, or at least in making them until Voldemort was finally defeated. If Potter didn't succeed in that, then Severus knew his own life wasn't worth a Sickle and his death would be very long and very painful.

There was another way, and Severus was hoping the Gryffindor would be noble enough to go through with it. It was the only way he knew of keeping Draco out of Voldemort's clutches, but the commitment on Potter's part would be equally as huge as a lifetime of potions making would be for the boy. Would Potter be willing to use his Earth Magic as Voldemort had? To Mark a person and form a link to them for the rest of his life? If he did that for Draco, then it might prevent the Dark Lord's Mark from making its connection and destroying the boy's existence.

He looked back at Draco. The boy's life would change forever if he took Voldemort's Mark. Would Draco listen if Severus tried to explain what taking the Mark _really_ meant? He doubted it. After all, Severus hadn't listened to Dumbledore all those years ago, and he was sure that the Headmaster had much better arguments against the Dark Lord than Severus could come up with now.

But if Potter Marked Draco first, the protection could be incredible as long as Voldemort didn't know what had happened. The Dark Lord should only have one chance at taking Draco, so if Potter Marked him first and could hide what he had done until it was too late, then maybe Draco could keep his life.

He considered for a moment whether it was fair to take matters out of Draco's hands and let someone else decide his future. But hadn't Lucius always been prepared to do that anyway? None of this mattered, however, if Potter refused, or if his grasp of Earth Magic didn't live up to expectations.

So now all Severus had to do was persuade The Boy Who Lived to be what everyone else had always said he was ... the Saviour of the Wizarding World.

"You are late, Mr Potter."

Harry froze at the sound of the Potions Master's voice. He hadn't even made it to the Potions classroom and already Snape was striding towards him, black robes fluttering around him like some hideous bat. By the expression on Snape's face, Harry had the horrible feeling that his detention would involve something particularly nasty -- maybe being the guinea pig for some disgusting potion that would cover him in pustules or turn him purple with yellow spots.

The truth was, he was late. He'd spent much too long with Sirius and Remus, and they'd not even started discussing the prophecy, which had been the reason for having tea with them in the first place. If he were honest, there was a part of Harry that was pleased they'd run out of time. He still hadn't taken things on board himself; so talking about it wasn't really something he was prepared to do at least not with anyone outside of the few who knew about the prophecy already. He glanced at the place he'd last seen Draco and wondered briefly whether telling the Slytherin about the prophecy was something he was prepared to do.

Assuming, of course, the idiot ever spoke to him again.

Pushing that thought to the back of his mind, Harry turned his attention to Snape. "You never gave a time, Professor, just_ after dinner."_

"You weren't in the Great Hall." Snape strode past Harry and he quickly fell into step behind the professor.

"Well, no...."

"Then I trust you spent your time reading Chapter One, Mr Potter."

"I was with Professor Black and Professor Lupin and --" Snape came to a halt so abruptly that Harry barrelled straight into him. He grabbed momentarily at the professor's robes before stepping away as Snape turned on him, black eyes glaring.

"I see that you are still as clumsy as ever." Snape fixed Harry with an annoying stare. "And was your meeting more important then your detention work?"

Harry glared back, feeling uncomfortable under Snape's scrutiny. The man still towered over him and their long history of animosity towards each other did nothing to quiet his growing apprehension, which was made even worse by the fact the book still had ink stains that Dobby hadn't been able to remove. "It was important."

"Of course it was." The professor's tone dripped sarcasm. "Anything those two want from you is bound to be more important than what I want you to do. You will read the chapter and report for detention tomorrow."

Harry frowned. "Instead of today?"

"In addition to today." Snape turned and continued down the corridor. "Are you well, Mr Potter?

"Sorry?" Harry rushed to catch up again. The Potions Master had strode past the classrooms and was now heading down one of the dungeon corridors Harry didn't recall ever using before.

"Are you in good health, Mr Potter?"

"Well ... I...." Taken aback by the question, Harry stumbled over his response. "Umm ... I'm okay ... I guess."

"No unusual side effects from taking your potion earlier?"

"No, not yet anyway."

"Good, then that will make this easier, won't it?"

"Umm..." Harry tried to keep his bearings as they moved deeper into the bowels of the castle. He thought he recognised a turning to his left as being the one that had taken him to the Slytherin common room back in his second year and another from his visit to Draco a week or so ago. Of course, he might be mistaken, since it all looked pretty much the same and he was convinced they had passed a particular statue twice. "Professor Snape, where are we going?"

Even as the question left Harry's lips, Snape stopped in front of an inconspicuous looking door. He drew his wand from his robes and tapped it against the wood. "Here." The door swung open with what Harry decided was an ominous creak. The young wizard halted, shuffling from foot to foot, as Snape stepped into room. "Come on, Potter, I don't have all night."

The professor disappeared and Harry glanced back down the corridor, wondering if he could find his way out of the labyrinth. The dark rectangle of the doorway became suffused with the soft glow of candlelight and, tugging at the hem of his jumper, Harry stepped towards the door. "Abandon hope, all ye who enter here," he mumbled to himself.

As he stepped through the doorway, Harry faltered again as he stared around the room in surprise. He'd expected to find himself in some storeroom (detention -- clean it) or maybe one of Snape's potions laboratories (detention -- clean it). But this wasn't either. To Harry's surprise, it looked to be a sitting room, softly lit by the candles and the embers of a fire.

"Shut the door."

Snape had crossed the small room and was currently prodding at the fire with a poker. It crackled back into life and he added a couple of logs before turning back to a clearly bewildered Harry. "I said shut the door, Potter. And sit down." Long fingers pointed towards a small sofa near the fireplace. It was upholstered in dark, rich golds and looked very, very comfortable.

It was. As Harry sat gingerly on the edge, he sank into the softness. If the sofa had been anywhere else, Sirius' room or maybe even Harry's own room, he would have had no compunction about curling up at one end of it or stretching out along its full length to daydream in front of the fire.

Harry's eyes flickering round the room, coming to rest momentarily on Snape. The older man had stopped beside a simple, elegant desk and was working his way through a collection of small rolls of parchment, nodding at some and scowling at others, before returning them to the relatively tidy desk.

This had to be Snape's private quarters, Harry decided, and it wasn't anything like he would have expected. Both Sirius and Remus had private rooms in the staff wing, but he'd never really considered where Snape's rooms were located or what they might be like. If asked, Harry would have said they'd be dank and dismal with a couple of hard wooden chairs, walls probably lined with jars of unmentionable things and the smell of something obnoxious bubbling in a cauldron. Or maybe, a huge cave, where Snape could hang bat-like from the ceiling.

Instead the room was warm, dry and surprisingly cosy.

The walls were half panelled with dark, but warm, wood that looked similar to the desk. Aunt Petunia had a china cabinet she claimed was an antique walnut veneered something-or-other, but Harry had seen the same thing in a branch of _Courts._ So the 'family heirloom' was probably only a couple of years old, but at least Harry recognised that not only was Snape's desk made of walnut but also that it probably was a _real _family heirloom.

Above the panelling, the stone walls were hung with tapestries, their patterns geometric rather than images of people or animals. Occasionally, the stone had been left bare, and Harry was surprised to see that these areas were not random. They picked out stones with interesting colours or features, which almost seemed to be artwork in their own right. The wall behind the sofa had another door in the middle of it, the rest of the space covered with overflowing bookshelves. Harry cast his eyes over the titles, surprised to see that they weren't just potions books. Clearly, the Potions Master was much wider read than Harry had given him credit for.

On the other side of the fire from the sofa was a high-backed leather chair with a matching footstool, and beside it a small table with a little reading lamp and a large book, the title of which Harry couldn't see. As his gaze took in the room, he suddenly realised that apart from the books there were hardly any personal things in the room. Even Sirius, with his history of nowhere to call home, had managed to find some photographs and other things to personalise his room, but Snape had nothing apart from his books, the tapestries and, on the shelf behind his desk, a set of what looked to be very expensive potions scales, a small cauldron and some other items that Harry didn't recognise.

Despite the animosity Harry felt for the man, he had to say that the comfort and warmth of the room somehow suited Snape. And, even worse, Harry liked the room as well. Oh, there were things he'd change, of course -- the scales for example -- but this was a room he could crash out in.

And Draco would love the armchair.

"Tea?"

Harry's eyes, which had glazed a little at the thought of Draco and the chair, snapped back to the older wizard, surprise at the question written all over his face. The whole situation was becoming more and more bizarre -- he was supposed to be having a detention, but Snape had invited Harry into his private sanctuary and was now offering him tea. What next? Cakes and sandwiches? Maybe even a bag of Sherbet Lemons?

"Umm."

"It's not poisoned, Potter."

Harry thought he saw humour in Snape's eyes. That wasn't possible, was it? He finally managed to respond with the only thing he could think to say, which was simply, "Yes ... please."

The simple elegance of the cup and saucer matched the room -- it was almost translucent porcelain with a single thin line of gold just below the rim. Harry's hands shook slightly as he took the cup and saucer from Snape, and he quickly put them down on the little side table beside the sofa. If he dropped it, Snape would never forgive him.

The professor had seated himself comfortably in the high-backed chair and was currently studying the flames, his expression unreadable. Harry found his eyes drawn to the same place, and he watched as the fire danced in the grate. He was just beginning to feel relaxed when he remembered why he was currently taking tea with Snape.

"Professor, about the detention."

Snape turned from the fire. "Yes, your detention." His fingers briefly rested on the book on the table before picking up his own cup and saucer. "There is no detention, at least as far as you and I are concerned." He sipped at his tea.

"Not a detention? I don't understand."

"The concept isn't that difficult to understand, Potter. This. Isn't. A. Detention." Snape carefully enunciated each word as if talking to an idiot. Harry found himself squirming at the speech. "Detention doesn't usually include taking tea in a teacher's private quarters."

"Then what...." Harry took a breath, trying to keep the little squeak out of his voice. Why the hell did this man always reduce him to feeling utterly useless ... just like Uncle Vernon always did? He deliberately straightened and held his head high. "Then what am I here for?"

"I needed to speak to you on a matter of some confidentiality, and I had no desire to have that fact broadcast to the whole school. Giving you a detention seemed to be the most appropriate way to get you here without arousing the interest of all and sundry." Snape smirked slightly. "After all, detention for you is hardly an unusual situation, is it?"

"You want to talk to me?"

"It's a simple concept, Mr Potter; surely even you can understand that. Professor Dumbledore and I have been talking, and he has asked me to work with you." Snape calmly sipped at his cup, as though he were discussing the weather. "The Headmaster has asked me to help you develop some of your ... special abilities. Specifically your gift for Earth Magic."

Harry's mouth tightened. Earth Magic? With Snape? Something else to learn along with all his normal school stuff, and there were his additional lessons with Sirius to cope with as well. How the hell was he going to fit in revision for his N.E.W.Ts?

Then realisation washed over Harry and his eyes widened a little in surprise. _With Snape._ Dumbledore had been discussing him with Snape, and the Headmaster wanted Snape to teach him about Earth Magic. Harry clenched his teeth together for a moment as the idea started to make him feel just a little sick. He'd had extracurricular lessons with the Potions Master before and each time it had been an unmitigated disaster. "I'm already working with Sirius ... Professor Black ... on that. I don't need help from anyone else." Harry thought he saw a look cross the professor's face, but it was so swift, he wondered if he had been mistaken. The black eyes had seemed to widen slightly as though Snape was alarmed at what Harry had said.

"Very well, I will inform the Headmaster that the great Harry Potter believes he knows better than his elders. I had hoped that you had finally grown up, but clearly I was mistaken. You may leave." Then, completely ignoring his young visitor, Snape put down his cup and reached for the book on the table, opening it to a bookmarked page.

Harry fidgeted for a moment, eyes flicking from the door back to Snape and he watched as the man read, long fingers turning the thick parchment pages. The fact that the professor knew about Earth Magic was a surprise, but that Dumbledore wanted him to teach Harry was even more of a jolt. Didn't Dumbledore think Sirius was doing a good enough job? Harry thought he'd been working well with his godfather and had been doing okay with learning how to control the strange energies that flowed about and through him. In fact, if he concentrated hard right now, he could sense those Earth energies in the stones of the castle ... from the flames burning in the grate, even from the two or three containers of dried herbs he now realised were on the shelves.

Sirius had been teaching him how to tap into that power to enhance his own magical abilities. He could now use Earth Magic to cast spells, knowing that they would be more powerful than using just his own innate magic. The latest thing he was learning was to cast several spells at once and to keep control of each one. It was hard, especially when something distracted him, and Harry had lost count of the number of cups he'd smashed when trying to spell several things into the air at once, each with a different charm.

So why did he need Snape's help when Sirius was doing so well? "Maybe I should talk to Professor Dumbledore myself."

"Please do." The tone was one of disinterest. "And please be sure to inform him that you think Black has the ability to assist you in the use of potions to develop your Earth Magic potential. I, for one, will be extremely entertained to watch that part of the proceedings."

Harry frowned. Potions? No one had ever mentioned potions before, certainly not in connection with Earth Magic. He realised the professor was now watching him with those intense black eyes and could feel himself colour under the gaze. It was hard to keep eye contact. "How do you know about me and the Earth Magic? It's supposed to be a secret."

"I know because the Headmaster has asked me to work with you." Snape's voice was quiet as he closed the book, his fingers flexing over the leather-bound cover. "I have known since you first came to Hogwarts and despite the fact that you have been mollycoddled from day one, I have been charged with looking out for you and protecting you until you were considered old enough to protect yourself."

Harry felt his mouth open and close. Protect him? His mind whirled as the words of Hermione's prophecy slammed into him ... The Lion will choose his Protector, who will be the Morning Star's Child.

No way! Snape couldn't be the Protector of the prophecy. He just couldn't be. But what if Dumbledore knew Snape was this Morning Child person and _that _was why he wanted Snape to work with Harry now?

Harry mentally shook himself. This whole line of thought was ridiculous. Snape as his Protector was as stupid as ... as, well.... It was just plain stupid. He needed to talk to Sirius about this and about potions and the rest of Hermione's prophecy.

"Professor Black could teach me...."

"Black might be adequate at whatever he is teaching you, but to the best of my knowledge, I am the only person at Hogwarts who has the knowledge to brew the potions needed for your development in that area." Snape's eyebrows rose. "But by all means, ask him if you wish, but do _not_ come running to me when he's turned your skin permanently fuchsia, or renders you mute for a year."

Harry tried to hide a smile; Snape had been telling him that potions could do that sort of thing for nearly seven years and he'd yet to see it. He watched as the Potions Master's eyes narrowed darkly.

"Those are two of the milder effects that can occur if the potions are brewed incorrectly, Mr Potter, which, I can assure you, is stunningly easy to do. But Black _did_ manage to come a respectable fourteenth in our year in Potions, so I'm sure he's -- reasonably competent." Snape's lip curled and the black eyes glistened. "If you'd prefer him to teach you, then go and ask him." With a flourish, Snape's hand swept towards the door as he turned his attention back to the book.

Harry tapped his fingers nervously on the arm of the sofa. Head down, he looked surreptitiously at the older wizard, eyes hidden by his messy fringe. Snape was now occupied with his book and was paying no attention to him. Would it hurt to listen to what Snape had to say? It didn't mean he _had_ to take lessons with the professor. And just maybe he could in the course of the conversation find out just why Snape hated him so much. Harry knew that in the past he would have readily dismissed almost everything the Potions Master said to him, but there was something about tonight.

Normally, if Snape wanted to humiliate him, it would be somewhere very public, like in the middle of the Great Hall or in front of a class full of sniggering, smug Slytherins. Yet this time, Snape seemed to have gone out of his way to keep the meeting secret by holding it here in his own private rooms. Not, he decided, the actions of a Snape who was deliberately setting out to make him look stupid by not explaining things to him properly.

Maybe he should give Snape the benefit of the doubt for once. Before he could change his mind, Harry took a quick breath and spoke. "Okay, let's talk about it. But just because I'm willing to listen, it doesn't mean I'm going to take lessons. At least not before talking to Professor Dumbledore."

Snape didn't look up as he closed the book, but Harry thought the professor had taken a calming breath as if Harry's response had been what he was waiting for.

Severus ran his fingers over the gold block lettering of the book and hoped that his feeling of relief wasn't visible on his face. Since the boy had first come into the room he'd been concerned that Harry might cut and run, but it finally looked like Harry would actually listen to him. Only by listening would he be able get Harry to help with, as Albus has put it, The Draco Problem.

His only problem now was just how much he should tell Potter.

Before the boy could change his mind, Severus began talking. "Very well. You will come to see me for a study session on the days you aren't working with Black. As far as everyone else is concerned you will be taking detention."

"Detention?"

"Yes, even you must realise how important it is that your gifts do not become common knowledge at the moment."

"But, detentions É that isn't fair." Harry glared at the older man and pouted.

"As far as you are concerned nothing ever seems to be fair. What would you suggest, Mr Potter? That I tell everyone I'm teaching you Remedial Potions?" The glare in Harry's eyes grew and Severus gave a sly smile at the reaction. Harry was so easy to goad. "Very well, we can say that you are receiving follow-up studies with me to help you pass your Potions N.E.W.Ts so that the Boy Who Lives can train as an Auror. Isn't that what you want?"

"Well, yes...."

"You have, after all, improved significantly since you have been working with Mr Malfoy."

Harry fidgeted slightly at the reference to Draco. It was true, his marks had improved and Snape hadn't been picking on him so much. And he did want to train as an Auror like his father. "Does Sirius know that you're teaching me?"

"I am sure that if Professor Dumbledore hasn't already told him then you will the moment you leave here. There will be potions work involved in your study with me, and I will expect you to put the same effort into these lessons as I know you do with Black." Harry managed a nod as Severus continued, his words coming out with increasing rapidity. "There are important things about being both a Dream Weaver and an Earth Mage you need to be aware of before we move onto the potions element."

"A what?"

The words stopped Severus in mid-flow and for a moment he stared at the boy, brow rising in sardonic annoyance. "An Earth Mage, Mr Potter." The words were said with exasperation. "What you are."

"I know about the Dream Weaver thing. That's reading stones, but not about the other thing...."

"Hasn't Black even given you a name for what you are?" As Harry shook his head, Severus looked skyward. "Do I really have to begin at the beginning? Of course I do. I keep forgetting you were brought up in ignorance of certain things." He watched as Harry shifted and could see that he was clenching his jaw.

"That wasn't my fault."

"No, Mr Potter, it is never your fault, is it? Shall we start with the basics?"

"I'm not stupid."

Severus eyed the young wizard for a moment, fingertips pressed together to form an arch. The truth was, Harry was far from stupid, but the boy had never been an academic student, excelling more in the practical subjects. If he had put as much effort into his studies as Granger or Draco, Harry would have been in the top of his classes. "There are several sources of magic, Mr Potter...."

"My name is _Harry."_

The boy's comment was spoken sotto voce, one Severus knew he was supposed to hear and which should force a caustic response from him, but he chose to ignore it. This was going to be hard enough for him without personalising it with first names. "In fact, even some Muggles are able to tap into magical sources in a rudimentary manner. Fortunately, most Muggles do not take such people seriously so they haven't investigated it further. As for the Wizarding world, most don't even wish to consider the possibility. They prefer to remain in ignorance of such thing."

"What if the Muggles did study it? Would they be able to find ways of being magical?"

"That is always a possibility. What make us different from Muggles is that the powers within us are inborn -- our powers are part of us, as natural as breathing. But while these innate powers are strong, they are also finite. When used for day-to-day magic there will be no problem. Use them for strong magic and you would be weakened, but after a while your powers would return. Use them in this manner regularly and the healing time would get longer and longer until, in the end, you will be powerless to do even the simplest of spells. Which is why we use wands. They let us tap into other forms of magic which we can use to enhance our own energies." He raised an eyebrow, noticing that Harry was fidgeting. "Yes?"

"Someone once told me --" Harry hesitated, clearly unsure about continuing. "I heard a story that wands are actually dampeners. That we're stopped from doing wandless magic because people are scared of the power it will give us."

"And who told you that rubbish?" Harry shrugged and returned to fiddling with the arm of the chair. "No one is scared of wandless magic. I do it all the time, but only in small doses." Severus raised his hand and the book on his lap slowly rose, returning to its place on the shelf behind the sofa. "But why bother using my own energies when I can use my wand to tap into magic that will not deplete me?"

"So, if someone's doing that sort of magic ... without a wand?"

"It can be very dangerous, especially in a child whose magic isn't fully formed, unless, of course, they are someone like you. Why do you think there are rules about underage magic?"

"To spoil our fun?" Harry gave a half smile.

"To protect you against your own over-exuberance. Here in the castle, the energies work to protect silly children messing about, but outside it can be very dangerous. Do you know of someone who has been foolishly playing with wandless magic?"

Harry shook his head, but Severus knew he was lying. He could see it in every line of the boy's body. Still, this wasn't the time to question him on the behaviour of his fellow students; that could wait for another day.

"The magic we tap into with our wands is natural magic -- Earth Magic."

"Elemental Magic?"

"If you wish."

"That's what Hermione called it."

Black eyes narrowing, Severus focused on Harry's face. "You have discussed this with Miss Granger?" Harry's eyes shifted away from the professor's intense stare. "I was under the impression you had been told not to discuss this with anyone besides the Headmaster and Black."

"You're talking to me about it." Harry tried not to smile, but couldn't prevent the slight curve of his mouth at the thought he might have gotten one over on Snape.

"Whom else have you discussed this with?"

"The Earth Magic?"

"Yes."

"Just her. I've talked to Ron about the prophecy but not about the magic."

"I suggest you keep your peace on this matter and not tell all and sundry. Hasn't Black told you the repercussions of Voldemort finding out about this?" Severus watched as Harry shook his head. Damn Black! And damn Dumbledore as well! What the hell did the two men think they were playing at? It shouldn't be his job to explain all of this. "Natural magic, or Earth Magic, call it what you will, is all around us, in us, part of us. When we use wands, we tap into that magic and use it to enhance our own powers. But, we are only skimming the surface. There are stories that thousands of years ago everyone could control natural magic ... _real _magic ... without wands. It's only as we've become interbred that the powers have lessened."

"You mean with Muggles?"

"I mean with pure-blood families breeding in smaller and smaller groups. Back at the time of the Founders, the list of the Noble Families was enormous, then we started getting more ... selective about which Families we would marry into. House animosity is much more than just part of this school, Mr Potter. You can't imagine how upset the Weasleys would have been if one of their brood had been sorted into Slytherin or even Ravenclaw or how the Malfoys would have reacted had their son ended up in Hufflepuff. And don't expect Ginevra Weasley to marry outside of the Gryffindor Families without it causing a feud."

"What about the Potters?" Harry asked, his expression one of rapt concentration now.

"Oh, the Potters are an old Family. They can trace their ancestry back past the Founders. Just wait until you turn eighteen, Mr Potter, the marriage proposals will start flooding in. If you're lucky, your guardian will pick a nice pretty girl from a good old Family as your bride." Severus tried hard not to smile at the look on Harry's face. He looked horrified at the sudden prospect.

"I ... I don't understand."

"Did you expect to pick and choose your partner? It doesn't work like that. Not unless you intend to throw hundreds of years of tradition out of the window. But we are digressing. I'm not your guardian, Black should explain this to you."

"What about the Snape family?"

"I threw tradition out of the window, and my personal life is not up for debate. We are discussing Earth Magic."

"But...."

"Earth Magic, Mr Potter. You are an Earth Mage. You have the ability to do _real_ wandless magic. Some may even consider you one of the few real wizards because you don't need wands or spells to make magic." He could see Harry was dismayed at what he was being told. "What's wrong, Mr Potter? I thought you'd be pleased to find that, despite my earlier aspersions to the contrary, you actually _are_ special."

"It's just...." Harry shrugged. "Have you really known this for ages?"

Severus nodded. "Yes. The Headmaster told me just before you arrived here in your first year."

"Is that one of the reasons why you hate me?"

The question made the Potions Master start in surprise. He'd expected lots of pointless and time wasting questions, but not something as forthright as this. And this wasn't the time to discuss the boy's father and his friends, or what they had done to Severus in the past. "I don't 'hate' you, Mr Potter. I save my ... abhorrence ... for other people much more deserving. I am frustrated by your lack of motivation and self-discipline. You are a typical Gryffindor who doesn't think before acting. People have cosseted and indulged you since you started at Hogwarts, and I believe if you had been told the truth years ago you would be an exceptional Earth Mage by now instead of a mere novice."

Harry's mouth had opened at the diatribe and when the older man finally fell silent, he didn't reply for several seconds. When he spoke there was a slight smile on his face. "Well, I guess that told me. What about my dad and Sirius?"

"I have no intention of discussing either of them at the moment. As I've just said, my personal life is not up for debate. I will point out that you are most definitely your father's son. Now, can we get back on topic? I don't have all night." Severus watched as Harry gave a brief nod, and realised that the boy seemed to have finally relaxed a little. "Your tea is getting cold."

Harry picked up the cup and saucer. "I just wondered...."

"Potions, Mr Potter, is the subject we are discussing." Severus waited for Harry to nod in agreement and sip at his tea. "There are two ways they can help you. Firstly, they can help in the short term while you are learning to control your powers. They will make it easier for you to connect with the energies until your natural abilities are suitably trained. You can also use them to enhance, strengthen and even alter different aspects of your Earth Magic. This will take time because for most enhanced skills, you need to be adept at controlling the energies in the first place."

"Are you saying I have to drug myself to do this?"

"These potions are not like Muggle drugs. They will not harm you in anyway. In fact, they might even do you some good -- one of them is normally used as a tonic. In fact, that one, if used properly, can significantly increase your ability to protect yourself. Given that you regularly find yourself in danger, I would think that would be of some interest to you." Severus paused, he knew Harry had never worried about his own safety, but that of his friends was another matter.

And it was _that_ which Severus was currently counting on. The fact that Harry might just be persuaded to offer his protection to Draco.

"I've not had any problems in the past."

The boy's comment was unexpected and Severus raised an eyebrow. "None at all? No Dementors or run-ins with the Dark Lord in the Forbidden Forest? No problems down in the Chamber of Secrets or being Portkeyed away to Little Hangleton?"

"How would taking potions have helped me there? I didn't have time to take anything before what happened at Little Hangleton, and how would a potion have helped with the Dementors? Oh, and maybe I should just have asked Riddle to drink something to get rid of him."

The smirk on Harry's face reminded Severus of the one Draco so often wore and, not for the first time, he wondered about the rumours of the Sorting Hat wanting to put Harry into Slytherin. At least if that had happened, he could have trained the boy from the beginning and wouldn't now have to put up with the Gryffindor's need to keep asking pointless questions without bothering to listen in the first place. "There is no need for sarcasm, Mr Potter." Severus could feel his impatience growing. It would be so easy just to tell Harry to leave. "The potions can't give you the power. If that were the case, then every witch and wizard in the world would have access to Earth Magic."

"Then what are they supposed to do?"

"They are a learning aid to help you sense the Magic more clearly. They will help you understand the feeling of controlling it, and help you use it without injuring yourself. Which you _can_ do if you try to use too much energy without understanding it. Once you have learned how it _feels_ to control the magic, you can dispense with the potions except on very specific occasions."

"How do you know all of this?"

"I know all this, Mr Potter, because I am a Potions Master. It is actually an achievement of quite some difficulty to make these potions, and much as I know you'd like to believe I've little to no intelligence, I'm actually rather bright."

The smirk had left Harry's face as he returned his now empty cup to the table. "Can you do it? Things with Earth Magic?"

Severus shook his head. "No, Mr Potter, I can't. I am subject to it as everyone is, but I can't perform it myself."

"Then how do you know these potions work like that?"

For a moment Severus hesitated, wondering just how much information he should give the boy. The truth was it had always been a constant annoyance to him that Dumbledore had kept so much from Harry and now the Headmaster seemed content to let Snape fill in all the blanks. Maybe Albus knew that the boy would end up hating him if the truth came out, and as Harry already hated his Potions teacher then it wouldn't matter if he hated him just a little bit more.

Or maybe Albus had ulterior motives and knew full well what Severus would ask Harry to do if given the opportunity. But, for the moment, Severus knew he wasn't really concerned for himself; it was Draco that mattered. Severus owed Eleanor Malfoy that much. She had effectively saved his life; so the least he could do was try to keep her grandson away from Voldemort's clutches. If he was going to ask for Harry's help, then the boy needed ... no, deserved ... to know the truth. "I have also brewed them for someone to use. And trust me, Potter, they do work."

"Who?" Green eyes fixed on the older man's face. They glistened slightly in the firelight and for a moment they were dusted with concern.

Severus remembered seeing Lily with that same look once before. The eyes had been equally as green and the look tinged with worry. "If you can't guess, then you're not as bright as I'd given you credit for being."

"Voldemort?"

The look on the boy's face was mirrored deep in Severus' soul. It still made his heart clench to hear that name and it set up an itching sensation on his left arm, as if the Dark Lord had heard his name being called. He struggled not to scratch at it. "I told you that I can't perform Earth Magic, but I am subject to it. Whom else would I have ever brewed them for?"

"Are you telling me **_he_** can do this ... this magic?" Harry's voice was almost inaudible as one of his hands pushed into his hair while the other clutched reflexively into his jumper. "And you made potions for him?"

Severus paused, taken aback by the distress that seemed to be flowing off Harry in waves. He'd expected Harry to be upset about lots of things, but not the fact Voldemort was also an Earth Mage. After all, didn't the two of them share other gifts? He frowned thoughtfully. Was that it? The fact it was yet another thing Harry had in common with the most notorious wizard of the last one hundred years

"Yes, the Dark Lord is an Earth Mage, but he hasn't any kind of advantage over you. In fact, I believe your powers will be stronger than his, given the appropriate training." He didn't know what he expected Harry to do next, but it wasn't for him to get to his feet and look like he was going to run from the room.

"I think I should go. I have homework to do."

"Do you want him to win, Potter? Running away from knowledge is a cowardly thing. Hardly Gryffindor behaviour."

"I'm _not _a coward and don't you _dare_ throw that Gryffindor bravery crap at me!"

"Watch your language, boy!" Severus worked at not rising to his feet. "And stop acting as though your world has ended. You have a marvellous skill -- an incredibly powerful tool at your disposal to protect yourself and others, and you're acting like a first year."

"You can talk! What about your marvellous skills? You made potions for **_him!"_** Vitriol ran from Harry's words. "And I don't want to inherit something else from him! I've had enough."

"You've had enough?" This time Severus did come to his feet, towering over the boy. "Does it matter where the abilities came from? You could have inherited this from your parents."

"Don't you dare bring them into this. You have no right to talk about them."

"Potter, sit down."

"No!"

"Sit down now!" As if taking the words as a direct command, Harry dropped back onto his seat and his green eyes fixed somewhere about the professor's knees. "I said nothing about your parents. I merely pointed out that there is every possibility that your Earth Magic is the very natural result of your own genetic make up rather than some tainted gift of the Dark Lord."

Harry didn't respond, instead breathing fast and hard as he stared fixedly forward. Severus wondered for a moment whether he should find something to calm the boy, but doubted there was anything suitable in his room. There was brandy and an extremely good single-malt Firewhisky, but the last thing he wanted right now was a drunken student on his hands. There was, of course, tea, and he quickly refilled Harry's cup and added a generous amount of sugar. "As for me once making potions, if you plan on questioning my loyalty, then I suggest you leave right now. Otherwise, drink this, Harry."

The deliberate use of Harry's first name had the desired effect. His face snapped up to look at his teacher and it was clear the sudden surge of adrenalin, which had fuelled his outburst, had finally dissipated. "Thank you," he mumbled as he took the cup.

Sitting back down, Severus watched the boy stare at the cup, holding it as if he could suck the warmth into his body. Which he probably could, Severus thought. With a low but firm voice, he finally continued. "Potter, the Earth Magic you can access is amazingly strong. You have the ability to thwart the Dark Lord. You have the ability to protect yourself and others."

Carefully, Harry put the untouched cup down and clasped his trembling hands between his legs. "I can't even protect myself, let alone someone else. Look at Cedric. He died. And Ron ... he could have been killed."

"You can. I'm not in the habit of being wrong about the effects of potions, and the Headmaster assures me that you have the ability to be a Mage of extraordinary power if you put your mind to it."

Harry finally looked up, his expression that of a person who had seen their entire world falling in on them. Severus couldn't help but wonder at what else had happened to Harry recently. For the boy to react like this meant there had to be something more. "So, do I need to have powerful Earth Magic to make use of your potions or do the potions make it more powerful?" The voice was quiet, introverted, as if the question wasn't really important.

"The potions work only for those few who can use Earth Magic, Mr Potter."

"Such as Voldemort?"

Severus flinched inwardly. "Such as the Dark Lord."

"What does he do to you?"

"To me personally or to his followers in general?"

"Both, I guess."

"Simply put: he controls and communicates with his Death Eaters through his Mark." Severus was aware once again of the itch on his left arm and fought against the urge to scratch at the Mark there. "The Dark Lord uses his access to Earth Magic to create his Mark. Once a follower has been linked to him through it, he is able to keep track of his followers and call them to him. How do you think he managed to get them to come to the Little Hangleton cemetery? By sending them owls with invitations?"

Harry gave a harrumph of annoyance at the sarcastic remark. "He used the Mark. I remember you telling Mr Fudge that after I got back from Little Hangleton."

Severus nodded, knowing he needed to explain enough to get the boy to understand but not so much that it might frighten him away. "It is also used to punish and reward. He often feels free to pass along any ... displeasure he might feel at anything his followers do that offends him."

"That serves them right, doesn't it? If you play with the devil, then you deserve to get burned." Harry's chin came up and the sanctimonious Gryffindor look that was a mirror of the boy's father stared back at the professor. It was so typical that Severus almost laughed aloud.

"How very judgmental of you." He tried to keep the sneer out of his voice, but it was very hard. They were both reverting to type -- Slytherin against Gryffindor. "Yet earlier you professed a wish to not see anyone suffer at Voldemort's hands. Now that I'm telling you that you hold the power to alleviate that suffering, you declare it deserved."

"It's true. Look at what Wormtail did and Lucius Malfoy and the Lestranges."

"I am not suggesting you run out and try to make everyone better. And I would also remind you that regardless of what Pettigrew has done, I understand you showed him mercy in that miserable Shrieking Shack even though you knew he had betrayed your parents."

Harry came to his feet, the boy's sudden movement taking Severus by surprise. "I want to see your Mark." His voice had taken on an almost cold, dispassionate tone, but Severus could feel the fear radiating from him.

"As you wish, Mr Potter." Face passive, Severus didn't hesitate as he unbuttoned his sleeve, turned it back and extended his arm towards Harry. He didn't need to look at it to know just what Harry would see -- the skull with the snake coming out of its mouth, the lines dark and clear against red, angry skin, still blistered from Voldemort's earlier attack. It looked, and was, painful, almost like it had been recently burned into his skin.

He watched as the boy's expression changed from composed to concerned as he moved from foot to foot. The green eyes belied any need for speech. It was clear Harry had expected his Potions teacher to refuse and, now that he could finally see it, the boy seemed more than a little shocked.

"Oh."

"Yes. Oh. It really _is_ there." Severus watched as Harry finally crossed the space separating them, green eyes darting between the Mark and the older man's face. When the boy's hand curled around his arm, it was all he could do not to pull away.

"Does it ... hurt?"

"Everything he does to me hurts. The Mark is only the most easily visible manifestation of it." Harry peered closer at the Mark, turning the professor's arm towards the fire to see it better. "Not what you expected?"

"No." The word was said with quiet awe, and Severus knew the boy was picking up the power coming from it, his own Earth Magic sensing that of the Dark Lord. Harry's free hand moved towards it, stopping just short; he looked up, meeting the teacher's passive gaze. "Can I ... can I touch it?"

Mirroring the boy's quiet tone, Severus answered, his own eyes holding the green. "He'll feel you if you do, Mr Potter." With a gasp, Harry let go of the arm and stepped back, his legs connecting with the footstool. Without thinking, he sat down hard. "It shouldn't come as such a surprise to you." Severus admonished. "If I can be subject to the Earth Magic the Dark Lord uses, then I will be subject to it from you as well. He will feel your energy through the channel by which he affects me."

"Does he know I'm here?"

"No, he can't tell you're in the room. You would need direct contact with the Mark for him to sense you."

Severus didn't know when his demeanour had changed from being that of the hard, caustic teacher to the quiet, softer one it now was. Maybe it was due to the change in Harry's tone ... the almost awe-struck way he was acting. But, for the first time since the boy had come in to the room, possibly since he had started at Hogwarts, Severus felt a connection with Harry. As he watched Harry, his mind was once again transported back to the last time that he had seen James before that fateful day he'd gone to warn him that Voldemort's spies had found him and knew about the Fidelius charm.

James had seen the new Dark Mark on his arm in Potions and had tried to get him to go to Dumbledore, but Severus had sneered at him and left the room. The fact that the Gryffindor had chosen to follow him out into the corridor and deep into the Slytherin dungeons was still a surprise to Severus. The person who had ridiculed and tormented him for years had stood before him, pleading for Severus not to be a fool. That it wasn't too late to walk away from Voldemort. That James would help him if Severus wanted.

And James had sat at his feet, much the same as his son currently was, and held his arm, staring in awe at the Mark.

_"It's magnificent and dreadful," James said. "But why, Severus? Why?"_

_"Because they appreciate me and understand me. They want me, Potter, unlike you and your miserable little gang."_

_James snorted. "Of course they want you. They want anyone ... even misguided fools. But you don't believe in what they're preaching do you? All this pure-blood crap? That isn't you ... you're more intelligent than that."_

_"What do you care? Piss off back to your little Gryffindor groupies."_

_"Severus...."_

_"Don't call me that! You lost the right to call me that when you decided Black was a better friend."_

_"No! You started dabbling and _**_that's_**_ why. Plus you decided Malfoy was a better friend and he's responsible for your getting this."_

_A long finger touched the Mark and Severus drew back with a hiss. "He knows who you are, Potter, and if you don't come to him, he's going to get you. I'm warning you, Potter, watch your back...."_

James had gone to Dumbledore, and Severus had been lectured long and hard over what was right and wrong. It hadn't made any difference. Severus had walked out of school the moment his last exam was over, joined up with the Dark Lord and found out just what it meant to be a Death Eater.

"I thought it would be like a tattoo, but this ... it's alive."

The boy's words were enough to bring Severus out of his reverie and he looked up to see James with Lily's eyes watching him. "If it's not been recently ... in use, it looks rather like that, yes."

"Recently? You mean he's used it recently?"

"Does it matter? Did you want to see me writhing on the floor in agony? Did you want to listen as I screamed in pain?"

"No! ... I ... No ... I'm sorry. I just...."

"Don't I deserve it? Isn't that what you said earlier?"

"I'm trying to understand. How can I understand if I don't know what he's doing?" Harry's fingers began moving back towards the Mark as though they were drawn to it.

"Potter, don't touch it." Severus pulled his arm away, and Harry drew back as though burned.

"I'm sorry. You ... you'd better hide it again." The boy's hands quickly moved between his knees as if that would control the impulse to reach for the Mark.

Quickly, Severus pulled his sleeve back down, glad to cover the bloody thing up again. If Voldemort left him alone, hopefully, the thing would fade to almost nothing within a few days, but at the moment he was only too aware of how visible it was. "It wouldn't hurt if you touched it. It's just that I don't want to take the chance that the Dark Lord will sense your link to Earth Magic. One of the greatest strengths you will have -- that you do have -- is your access to this magic. Another is the fact that the Dark Lord doesn't know you are an Earth Mage. That is why you mustn't tell people about your gifts. Not even those you trust."

"He doesn't know?"

"No. Believe me, if he knew, then I would be aware of it. Which is what makes me believe that your access to Earth Magic is hereditary."

"But, if Voldemort can do this, then I don't understand what you expect me to do about it. He's had years to learn how to use it while I only found out about it a few weeks ago."

"Which is where the potions will help. Using them will enhance your skills and help you understand what your connection with the magic is." Severus flexed his fingers together before carefully continuing. "You would then be able to use your gift in many ways. I mentioned your ability to protect people. You could, for example, block his ability to channel things to me. As long as he doesn't know you are an Earth Mage, he won't be able to take steps to ensure that you _couldn't _help me ... that you couldn't help others. That is part of the reason it's important that he, or any of his followers, don't know that you can access it. At least until you become a skilled Mage."

Harry gave a snort. "I'm a kid and he's one of the most powerful wizards there is. As much as people think I've got something special, I haven't. And even if I could do it, wouldn't he know the minute I did something to you?"

"This is no time for your false modesty." Severus tried to keep his irritation out of his tone. "I may not be impressed enough by your status as the Boy Who Lived to let you break rules left, right and centre; but I've no doubt at all that you are significantly more powerful than Voldemort." He watched as Harry opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again, silent for once. "You are just young and untrained, and you lack the self-discipline to apply yourself fully. You just coast by on the minimum of effort and practice, relying on raw talent. It is one of the things that annoys me most about you, Potter, that you squander your gifts."

Green eyes glinted with annoyance and Harry's chin came up as he fixed the man with a stare. He stood up and pulled out his wand, pointing it at the older man's arm. "I don't squander things. Tell me the spell and I'll do it. Then we can both get on with things."

"Put your wand away, Mr Potter; if only it were that simple." Severus waved an impatient hand. "But do I take it that you _are_ willing to offer your assistance?"

"I don't know what you want me to do, so how can I say that I will?" For a moment Harry stared moodily at the wand. "I don't need a wand anyway." He made the wand disappear. "But then I guess you already know that."

"Impressive," Severus knew his tone was mildly condescending, but he was beginning to feel that if he let Harry wallow any more then the boy would drop into feeling sorry for himself, which was the last thing Severus needed right now. "But let me be the first to tell you that making your wand disappear, or whatever else you've learned to date, is child's play compared with what you are capable of doing." His eyes narrowed and he pinned Harry with a shrewd stare. "As for helping me, there are a few things you could do of varying degrees of difficulty and effectiveness."

The level look was returned. "Are you asking for **_my_** help?"

Severus took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It looked like he was going to have to eat humble pie if he was going to get any further with the boy. "I thought I was fairly clear about that. Yes, Mr Potter, now is your moment of glory. I, the one who has been the bane of your existence for six and a half years, am now asking for your help."

**_The Past ... Breakfast ... The Great Hall, Hogwarts ... Friday 20th December 1996_**

"So, everyone's going to be there for Christmas? All your brothers?" Harry reached for a third piece of toast and quickly spread it with butter.

Ron gestured at his mouth, quickly swallowing the spoonful of cereal before answering. "You do it deliberately, don't you ... wait until I've got my mouth full before asking me something." Harry smirked at him as he took a bite from his own toast. "Like I said -- everyone. Bill's coming back from Egypt to work in London for a while. Charlie's on holiday and even Percy has promised to take a day off. Mum's over the moon -- it's the first time we've all had Christmas together for ages."

Harry tried to return Ron's enthusiasm at the idea of a family Christmas, but his smile was only superficial. Deep down he couldn't help but feel more than a little jealous at the idea that his best friend would be surrounded by his family while Harry was remaining at Hogwarts with the teachers and about a dozen other students. It was going to be a quiet and lonely couple of weeks.

At least, he decided, it would be better than those he'd spent with the Dursleys. Hogwarts Christmases were full of wonderful food and decorations, and maybe Sirius might even drop in at some point.

Plus, of course, two weeks without Malfoy's condescending stares and supposedly witty retorts.

He glanced across the hall and found the Slytherin watching him. Harry glared back, rewarded by Malfoy tossing his head back, as his mouth curled in a sneer, which was mirrored in the boy's grey eyes.

Bloody Malfoy! Harry kept up the staring contest, a game they'd played more times than Harry cared to remember. Only it wasn't a game. It had become something more than that over the years they'd been at school -- who would look away first -- and more often than not, it would happen over the breakfast table. Harry would be happily having breakfast, chatting to his friends, and he'd look up to find Malfoy watching him. Sometimes he even thought the blond was actually able to hear what the Gryffindors had been talking about. Of course, Harry knew that was impossible, there was another table full of noisy students between them, but Malfoy would sometimes make references to things that made it seem like he'd been listening in.

Maybe, Harry considered, there was some bugging device on the table or Malfoy had a spell that let him hear things over great distances. He just knew that he hated the fact Malfoy didn't have anything better to do with his time than watch Harry Potter.

"So, what do you think?"

"What?" Harry spun in the direction of the voice and realised Ron had been speaking to him for a little while. "Sorry, I was...."

"Yeah, miles away. Like you always are at breakfast." Ron grinned as he reached for the teapot.

Harry returned the smile and pushed his cup towards Ron. "So, what do I think?" He glanced briefly back towards the Slytherin table and watched as Malfoy licked his finger and stroked the air in front of him in a gesture Harry had seen many times in the past ... chalking up another success at out-staring Harry Potter.

And Harry's reaction was much the same as every other time Malfoy gestured at him. He felt himself flush and a wave of heat wash over him from head to toe, a sensation he'd long put down to anger at being beaten yet again.

"Are you okay, Harry?" Hermione was watching him over the top of her copy of the _Daily Prophet._ "You look all hot and bothered."

"What? No, I'm fine. It's just hot in here." Harry quickly picked up his teacup.

"I said why don't you come spend Christmas with us? I'm sure mum wouldn't mind. In fact, I know she'd want you to be there with us ... you know she thinks you're an adopted Weasley."

"Really?" Harry's eyes lit up. "You think she'd be okay with it?"

"Sure. I don't know why we didn't plan this before. Too caught up in studying I guess, mate."

Hermione gave a snort of derision. "Too caught up with Quidditch more like."

Ron slapped Harry's shoulder as he poked his tongue out at Hermione. "If you're worried, Harry, I'll owl mum and check. Then she can let Dumbledore know and you can come back on the train with us."

"And you could come to us for New Year." Hermione folded the newspaper and reached for her cup. "I could do with some company, especially as my parents are having a big party, at which I'm sure I'll be the only person under twenty-five."

Malfoy's smug expression forgotten, Harry was suddenly buoyed up at the idea of Christmas and New Year with the two people he cared about most in the world. "That would be great."

"Why don't you come to us for New Year as well, Hermione? You could share with Ginny." Ron suddenly stood up and shouted down the table to his sister. "Gin!"

The girl looked up and Ron waved for her to join them. She quickly slid from her chair, made a comment to those around her that made them laugh and came to her brother's side. "Yes, Ronniekins?" She ruffled his hair with her hand.

"Don't!" Ron pulled away and quickly tried to tidy the mess his sister had made of his hair. "Gin, do you want Hermione to come for New Year?"

Ginny let out a squeal and quickly hugged her brother. "That would be brilliant. Hermione, say you will. I don't think I can stand being the only female besides mum in with that crowd of boys."

The elder girl smiled. "I'll have to check with mum and dad, but I think it would be great."

"And, you can both come to the Chudley Cannons match on New Year's Day." The two girls groaned, but Harry was already grinning at the prospect of seeing a professional match even if it was only the Cannons. "We're playing Caerphilly Catapults, and we've got a box so it should be great -- plenty of room for everyone."

"A box?" Hermione frowned.

Ron grinned impishly and straightened as if very pleased with himself. "That's what comes of knowing the team owner."

"Oh, yes, which reminds me." Hermione grabbed for her newspaper again and began flicking through the pages. "There's something in the _Prophet _I wanted to show you."

Ron craned his neck. "I've got the sports pages here." He waggled the part of the newspaper he'd already filched from her.

"No, it's in the gossip bit." She pursed her lips, clearly annoyed that she couldn't find what she was looking for. "Ah, here it is." She deliberately cleared her throat and in her best 'reporter' voice began to read. _"Gossip Columnist Celandine Goutweed finally managed to get a few words with the reclusive owner of The Chudley Cannons, David Morrello, yesterday after rumours that he is to succeed Ludo Bagman as Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports in the New Year. There is even a rumour going around the political department of the _Prophet _that Cornelius Fudge is going to appoint him as a Special Advisor. Handsome David remained tight-lipped and refused to confirm or deny either appointment, but did ask this reporter to join him for dinner. Now that is one person who would get my vote for Minister of Magic."_

**_The Present ... Thursday 19th March 1998 ... Lunchtime ... The Great Hall_**

Hermione Granger stared briefly at her fingernails, glaring in annoyance at the dirt under one of them, which she'd been unable to clean away after the morning's Herbology lesson. She ran her thumbnail under the offending nail yet again, but without any luck. "I've tried everything on this, even that new scouring charm Professor Flitwick taught us, but I can't get rid of it." She wiggled the finger towards Harry who took no notice at all. "Harry...." He didn't respond, instead staring into his bowl of soup as though the bits of vegetables held the answer to all his problems. "Earth to Harry...."

"Hmmm?" He finally looked up, letting a spoonful of the liquid dribble back into the bowl.

"Have you listened to anything I've said in the last ten minutes?"

"Sorry," he said in apology. "I've just got things on my mind."

She moved her chair a few inches closer and leaned in towards him, her manner conspiratorial. Not that she needed to get that close; the Great Hall was surprisingly empty considering it was lunchtime, and she and Harry were the only people currently at their end of the Gryffindor table. There wasn't even anyone near them at either the Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff tables. "You're not still going over what you told me last night?" Her voice was a whisper.

"What do you expect?" Harry put down the spoon and began ripping a bread roll to pieces. "How would you like it if Snape asked you to do something like that?"

Hermione pursed her lips thoughtfully as she cast a furtive glance towards the high table where the Potions Master was having his own lunch. She had finally managed to catch up with Harry the previous night, demanding to know what had been going on with Snape. Harry had somehow not only managed to get himself a detention on the Monday evening, but also on Tuesday and Wednesday as well. He'd been preoccupied since the first one and she had put that down to what had happened with Malfoy rather than anything concerning the professor. Then, the previous night, Ginny had complained that Harry had completely ignored her when he'd returned from his third detention in a row. Hermione had decided enough was enough.

She'd found him shut away in his room, sealed off behind the curtains on his bed. That, in itself, was an instant worry, Harry only did that when he was either ill or something very bad was bothering him. At first he'd refused to speak, but finally it had all come out.

Harry wasn't doing detention with Snape, but was having instruction from the professor on Earth Magic.

Hermione had to admit to being rather excited by the whole thing. Her Harry was an Earth Mage ... she'd always known he was special, and now he would be able to use his own magic to protect people from the Dark Lord.

_"So why the long face?" she asked him._

_"Because this is the same magic Voldemort uses to Mark his Death Eaters ... he uses it to control them."_

_"But just because he's done that, it doesn't mean the magic is bad, does it? It's the way you use the magic that's important."_

_"I know that, Hermione, but that's what Snape wants me to do for him. He wants me to use my magic to Mark him so Voldemort wouldn't be able to hurt him anymore."_

She remembered sitting on the end of Harry's bed, the thick red curtains pulled tightly shut, just staring at him. The only light had been from the little sphere she'd given him for his birthday the previous year, the glow from it leaving dark shadows under Harry's eyes. As she watched him now, she wondered not for the first time just what stress and strain he was currently under. The dark smudges were still visible even in the brightness of the hall, as though someone had run a thumb covered in soot under each eye.

After surrounding the bed with some suitable silencing charms, they had talked for ages about what Snape had wanted ... for Harry to counterbalance the Mark that Voldemort had placed on Snape by adding one of his own.

Harry had promised to think it over, but he had been horrified by the prospect and had gone back to see Snape to tell him he couldn't do it. But he never had the chance; he arrived to find the professor writhing on the floor in agony from whatever punishment the Dark Lord had decided to heap upon the man this time. Harry had stayed with Snape until the initial pain had passed, trying to make him comfortable and feeling completely helpless because the look in Snape's eyes almost pleaded, _You can stop this._

"I was helpless, Hermione, I didn't know what to do. Eventually, it must have gotten easier because he finally stopped shaking, but he was as white as a sheet. Tell me, how can I refuse to help him when it's like that?"

How, indeed, could Harry refuse, Hermione thought, her eyes shifting from Harry to the high table. He was caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place yet again. If he did what Snape asked, then she knew Harry would feel as though he was as bad as Voldemort ... he would have to place his own Mark on the Potions Master, and he would have a similar hold over the man. If he refused, then Harry knew what he was subjecting Snape to. He'd seen what Voldemort could do to a person even when they were within the relative safety of Hogwarts.

No wonder Snape remained within the grounds for the most part. She wondered for a moment whether Snape might have planned the little display of Voldemort's powers; he would know that Harry was unlikely to refuse if he saw how much pain Snape was being put through.

"Have you decided what you're going to do?"

"No."

"Did you talk to Dumbledore like I suggested?"

Harry nodded. "That's why I was late for Herbology. I never thought it was possible for someone to talk for so long and then end up saying nothing. In the end he said that yes, I did have the ability to do it, but that it was up to me and whether or not I was willing to take on the commitment. I don't want to be committed to Snape for the rest of my life."

"Well, does it really mean you would be? Isn't it that you just put the Mark on him and it overrides what You-Know-Who's done in the past?"

"Sort of like that I guess, but...." Harry picked up another roll and began destroying that one as well. "I'm scared I could end up doing the same thing Voldemort does to him ... I could send all that pain to him as well."

"Of course you couldn't." Her voice mirrored the shocked look on her face. "You aren't like that. You couldn't ever be like that."

He looked at her, a strange darkness in his eyes. "Couldn't I? How can you be so sure, Hermione? I'm seventeen years old. I don't want to be responsible for someone else. What if I do this and he upsets me for some reason? Who's to say I wouldn't be so pissed off that I'd hurt him? How do I know that this isn't the beginning of a long slippery slope? Maybe Riddle was a good guy until he used his magic to Mark someone for the first time. Maybe having that sort of control over people is what turned him evil. Absolute power corrupts absolutely."

"Stop being so stupid, Harry. And stop quoting Star Trek psychobabble at me. You know that isn't the way to deal with this. You can fool Ron and Neville with that sort of thing, but not me, I grew up with it too." She huffed at him in mild annoyance. "Doesn't it say something to you that Snape, of all people, actually trusts and believes in you enough to let you do this? You know you wouldn't hurt him. You'd be angry maybe, but Harry, you aren't the sort of person who'd do something out of spite."

Harry snorted. "Don't put it past me. Remember, I nearly ended up in Slytherin."

"Oh, for goodness sake, stop going on about that. The fact is that you didn't and that you're in Gryffindor for a reason." She reached out and squeezed his hand. "Harry, forget for a minute that this is Snape asking you. What about if it was me, or Ron, or Ginny?"

"That's different. You're my friends."

"But this isn't about friendship is it? This is about something else entirely. It's about dealing with You-Know-Who and helping those he's hurting. Snape's not going to be the only one to ask for your help, Harry, there will be others."

The green eyes widened as realisation slowly sank in and when Harry finally responded the single "No!" was hissed in an angry whisper.

"Harry...."

"No! I'm not going to be the other side's version of Voldemort. I'm not going to end up Marking my followers and then have them doing what I want because they're scared of what I might be able to do to them if they refuse."

"But the prophecy said...."

"I don't give a flying fuck about the prophecy!"

"Harry!"

"Everyone wants a piece of me, Hermione." He began counting them off on his fingers. "First there's Dumbledore who decided it would be a good idea to not tell me what's going on. What did he think I was going to do? Run away? Then there's Snape who wants me to stop Voldemort getting at him. Do you know what he said to me? He said that if I'd bothered to learn about being a Mage years ago then things would be easier now. Does he really think I wouldn't have preferred that? And there's Sirius who's in a crappy mood because Snape's teaching me as well. He wants me to find more time to work with him when I hardly have any time for myself. Let's not forget Voldemort in all of this, I bet the reason he wanted to kill me in the first place is because he was worried I'd have some sort of connection to magic he didn't have." He glared at her for a moment. "And what about you, Hermione? What do you want?"

"Nothing! Harry, I don't want anything from you. I'm just trying to help."

"Well, you're not. If you want to help, then just give me some bloody space." Harry took a shuddering deep breath and began rubbing at the scar on his forehead with the heel of his hand. "Look, I'm sorry."

For a moment all Hermione could do was stare down at her plate. She was aware of a couple of people looking towards them and hoped that they hadn't heard anything they shouldn't have. "No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push you."

"No, no, it's me." He leaned slightly towards her, shoulder resting against shoulder. "And it's him you know. He hasn't even come down to lunch."

It took Hermione a moment to understand what Harry was talking about, but she followed his gaze towards the Slytherin table. "You mean Malfoy?"

He nodded. "I still don't know what happened on Monday and he's gone out of his way to ignore me ever since. I even tried to get into Slytherin, but they've changed the password. I waited for ages for someone to come by last night."

"Oh, Harry." She began to rub gently at his back. "Do you want ... maybe I could talk to him."

"No, I've got to sort it out. I need some fresh air." Harry pushed his chair back, noticing for the first time all the crumbs in his lap. "What a mess."

Hermione sighed, wondering whether he was referring to the crumbs or his life in general. "Do you want some company?"

"Not unless you plan on missing Transfiguration. If anyone asks tell them -- well, don't tell them anything. Just say you don't know where I am. I will talk to McGonagall later."

"Harry, you can't miss a whole afternoon! Where are you going, anyway?"

"If I don't tell you, then you won't have to lie. I'll be back later on. I need to think."

It was the little trail of smoke curving up into the clear March sky that caught Harry's attention. He pulled his broom to a halt, hovering amongst some trees close to Hagrid's cottage, and watched the building for several minutes before rising back into the sky once more. The fact there was a fire at the cottage wouldn't have overly concerned him in the past -- Dobby had taken it upon himself to keep the building neat and tidy, so the house-elf might have left a magical fire burning in the grate if the cottage had become chilly or damp -- but Snape's protestations about keeping himself safe had somehow sunk in, and Harry surveyed the cottage with new sense of caution.

He knew it couldn't be Hagrid; he'd seen the half-giant teaching a group of second-years as he'd flown over the school grounds. It could be Sirius, of course. His godfather had helped with the charms around the cottage and would be able to get through them. The thought that it might be Sirius actually cheered him up a little. This could be the chance Harry had been waiting for to have a real heart-to-heart with the man.

Of course, it would also mean having to tell Sirius why his godson wasn't currently in his Transfiguration class.

Harry leaned forward slightly over the shaft of his broom, gloved hands gripping the wood lightly. There was a way to check whether the cottage was safe, of course. Sirius had been teaching him to sense how Earth Magic flowed around him and to pick up when other energies interfered with the flow. If someone ... or some_thing_ ... was in the cottage he should be able to track the interference. Sometimes he could even pinpoint to whom the other energies belonged to, but that was harder and he could only do it if he'd had contact with that person's energy in the past.

"Here goes nothing."

Taking a calming breath, Harry tried to remember his lessons with Sirius. If he could just concentrate on the flow of energy around him and the cottage, he should be able to sense if there was anything wrong ... any magic that didn't 'feel' right. But his mind kept drifting and he had to start over several times before finally getting a connection with his surroundings. It was like, he decided, being part of the root system in the ground beneath him or as if he were a spider whose web stretched out in all directions. Wherever the web touched, he could sense the Earth Magic flowing and, through that, the positive and negative in his surroundings.

The first time he'd succeeded in making the link, it had only worked over a few inches away from him, but now he could achieve quite a distance. Maybe if he used one of Snape's potions....

As his concentration shifted, the link dissolved and Harry found himself back on his broom, hovering a few feet above the ground. Damn it! Harry swore quietly, chiding himself for losing the link. It wasn't as easy as it should be, but he'd held it for long enough to know there was nothing evil in the building, just the same cosy warmth there seemed to be every time he'd been there over the last few months.

Setting down outside the cottage, Harry climbed from his broom and reached for his wand, which he tapped against the front door. He could hear the locks inside click open and, tucking the wand away, he carefully placed his hand flat on the surface of the door. As he did so, he could feel the wards around the building surround him, their protection pulling him into the building as he opened the door.

He quickly leaned the broom against the wall and sealed the wards as Sirius had taught him. The building almost seemed to heave a sigh of relief at once again being safe beneath the intricate spells and, for a moment, Harry just stood there, basking in the warmth and feeling of 'home' that the cottage always filled him with.

Here he could be himself. He didn't have to hide behind the facade he was using more and more at school these days. People seemed to expect him to be the Boy Who Lived no matter what. Even Hermione, who he thought understood him, still expected him to always do 'the right thing'.

As for Snape....

Harry let out a long sigh. He was convinced Snape didn't know just _what_ he was asking Harry to do. It was one thing to make potions, but another to expect Harry to cast a spell and put a magical Mark onto Snape that would be there for the rest of the man's life.

He closed his eyes, shuddering as the image of the Dark Mark filtered into his mind. Not a Mark that was flat and lifeless as if drawn on a piece of parchment, but alive almost to the point that he could see the snake's forked tongue flicker out. A word came unbidden to Harry's lips, and he knew it was spoken in Parseltongue.

Voldemort's gift ... talking to snakes. Harry rubbed at his forehead, a twinge of pain flickering through his scar, and he wondered if Voldemort was aware of the pain ... maybe even responsible. It had been worse since the previous summer ... since he'd used _Avada Kedavra_ on the Death Eater, but even more so just recently ... like someone was trying to strip him of what was really 'Harry' and replace it with something else. Snape seemed so sure that Voldemort didn't know about the Earth Magic that Harry possessed, but what if he did? What if that was what Harry could feel being leached away from him?

Then there were the dreams that lay tantalizingly just out of reach. Dreams full of Draco and Dark Marks and blue eyes and words written in blood....

Harry shivered and, pulling his cloak tighter about him, he strode over to the lit fire, giving silent thanks to whoever had started it. As the warmth seeped into him, he finally stripped off his gloves and cloak, tossing them onto a chair. Then, pulling at his tie, Harry kicked off his shoes and turned around, realising for the first time that he wasn't alone.

Lying on the sofa, apparently asleep, was Draco Malfoy.

For a moment Harry couldn't move; then slowly, one step at a time, he moved across the room.

Draco.

Here.

After all his efforts at trying to track the boy down, Draco was sleeping in Hagrid's cottage as if he had every right to be there. Harry wondered briefly how the Slytherin had managed to get through the wards, but he pushed that aside for the moment as relief and pleasure vied with annoyance at finally having found him.

Relief at finally finding him. Pleasure at the sight of him. Annoyance because of what he'd put Harry through over the last few days.

He slowly dropped to the floor, sitting crossed legged, and just watched the sleeping boy, wanting ... needing ... to drink in his fill of the sight. Draco must have been at the cottage for a little while. There was a half-drunk mug of now cold coffee near the sofa and shoes left tidily near the other end. Draco was stretched out on his side along the length of the sofa, his head pillowed on a cushion. He was in his school uniform, the tie loosened and top two buttons of his shirt undone. The open neck of his shirt had been pulled to one side as he'd turned at some point, exposing the edge of his collarbone to the firelight, and it took all of Harry's control not to reach out and touch it.

The urge to waken the sleeping boy was strong, but the peaceful face begged to be left in the safety of sleep, and Harry realised he was content for the moment to just watch the gentle rise and fall of Draco's chest and that slightly flushed face. He did reach forward and hook a lock of hair that had fallen over Draco's face back behind his ear and let his eyes roam from his lover's feet up those long legs, pausing briefly at his hips, before continuing to the tips of Draco's fingers which were tucked beneath his cheek.

His lover.

Harry's eyebrows rose slightly at that thought. He'd not really thought of Draco as that before and still wasn't sure if their relationship counted as such, especially as the person currently sleeping on his sofa had walked out on him a few days before.

And yet, despite telling Harry he didn't want him anymore, Draco had chosen to come here, of all places. Harry still didn't know how Draco had managed to get into the cottage, but that only piqued his curiosity further. The wards were powerful and for Draco to have not only broken through them, but also then put them back as if nothing had happened showed just how good a wizard Draco must be.

Was this the first time Draco had used Harry's retreat, or did he often visit? Draco knew Harry's lesson schedule so it would be easy for him to know when Harry wouldn't be around, but that still didn't explain _why_ he would choose to come here when there must be loads of other places he could find peace and quiet. But, the fact was, Draco was here and that brought a warmth to the pit of Harry's stomach. Something had happened in the storeroom that had terrified Draco and now all Harry needed to do was to get him to admit what it was and why he'd walked out.

He watched as Draco stirred, rolling over onto his back with his arm sprawled above his head. His other hand flopped onto his midriff; the shirt had gapped a little, showing bare flesh around his navel. Harry stared at the patch of skin for a moment, desperate to slide his fingers through the gap in the shirt, but he didn't want to wake Draco.

Harry cocked his head to one side thoughtfully. He could wake Draco at any time, demanding to know why he was here and what was going on. But, if he were honest, he was more worried that if he woke Draco, the boy would disappear again before Harry had the chance to talk to him. He grinned quietly to himself -- maybe he should just tie Draco up so that he couldn't leave until Harry had finally gotten the answers he wanted. There were some good spells he could use -- _Petrificus_ maybe, or a couple of good binding spells.

The grin slowly faded as the memory of being bound by magic ropes flicked to the surface of Harry's mind. Quirrell creating ropes to tie him when he had gone through the trap door to find the Philosopher's Stone ... Wormtail binding him so tightly to the headstone in Little Hangleton that he could feel the ropes cutting into his flesh.

He shuddered and, for the first time, admitted to himself that one of his fears was being tied up ... unable to defend himself. And of claustrophobia ... of being locked in that cupboard under the stairs and of bars on his bedroom window. He couldn't ... wouldn't ... subject Draco to those same fears -- to wake up and find he was trapped and couldn't move.

Coming to his knees, Harry leaned over the sleeping boy and gently brushed his mouth against Draco's slightly parted lips. "I don't need answers, Draco, I just want you back," he murmured quietly as he settled down to wait for his lover to wake up.

Draco never took long to wake up. He could remember when he first came to Hogwarts and had to share a room, watching his dorm mates struggle to wakefulness. They would grunt and grumble and whine for ages often until someone came and threw them out. Draco, on the other hand, was used to never lounging in bed once he was awake. His father had told him that all lying in bed did was waste time when he could be doing something much more productive and worthwhile.

Sometimes he did like to just curl up beneath crisp sheets and doze away the morning, but he always felt guilty afterwards and would berate himself, as his father would have done. He would work himself harder for the rest of the day and deny himself sleep the following night to make up for it.

Sleeping in the middle of the day was a luxury beyond belief, one that would have earned him discipline if he'd been caught doing so at home. As for sleeping when he should have been in class, Draco dreaded to think what his father might say.

He lay on the sofa on his back; an arm flung over his eyes, and wondered how long he'd been asleep. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, of course, just to lie back for a little while and consider where his life was going. But the sofa had been so comfortable, moulding to his body and lulling him into a state of relaxation. There was the crackle of the fire and the shifting shadows the flames made on the ceiling ... it was a balm to his body and soul, and just so easy for him to drift into the sleep he'd deprived himself of over the preceding months.

It was strange, he considered, that he should feel so at peace here in a place he'd called a 'hovel' three months ago, with its old scruffy furniture and basic essentials. He'd even have to clear up when he left, that in itself strange for a boy who'd grown up with house-elves to do just about everything. Yet, here he could ... what was it Adrian Pucey had once called it on finding out Carl Warrington was dating a Hufflepuff? ... 'slum it' with no one to take him to task over it. Even in his own room back in Slytherin House, he had to be the Draco Malfoy everyone expected because people would be there, knocking on his door, wanting his time or attention.

But all he had to do was step into the fireplace in his room and whisper "Harry" to allow his little Floo network to bring him here, where no one demanded anything and he could doze away the afternoon without the fear of being disturbed.

Granted, this was only the first time he'd come here alone, but he'd thought about it ... thought about running away to Harry's sanctuary ... thought of being somewhere Harry spent time even if he couldn't _be_ with Harry. This place had become a refuge in his mind, and now it was finally one in reality as well. No one could get him here. Not his father, or his mother, or anyone who demanded a piece of him because he was a Malfoy.

Not even Voldemort....

That was why he was here now, needing a refuge from what was expected of him. His father had fire-talked with him earlier, wanting to know how his son was. Wanting to know if Draco was playing his part in ridding the world of their Master's hated enemy. Wanting to tell Draco that his mother had found a partner for their son. Wanting to know if Draco was ready to pledge himself.

Wanting.

Everybody wanted something from him ... everybody.

Draco paused as a little revelation surfaced. Not everybody. Harry didn't seem to want anything from him ... except for his time and company.

He pulled his arm tighter over his eyes as they started prickling dangerously.

Draco knew the girl chosen for him. Gwladus Llewelyn.

She came from good pure-blood Welsh stock, and her family owned huge tracts of the Pembrokeshire peninsula and the Presely Mountains. Rather than send her to Hogwarts, her parent had sent Gwladus to study at Durmstrang, and Draco wondered briefly what his life would have been like if his father had sent him there instead of Hogwarts. He would have known Gwladus for one thing, and would have been taught the Dark Arts rather than just the defence against them.

But then, he would never have known Harry.

He remembered Lucius telling him that the Llewelyns had sole rights to mine the precious Bluestone from the mountains, which was used worldwide for potions and charms. Monoliths of the stone had been used to build Stonehenge. The Hallows in the Parliament building was carved from it, and Draco knew that at least one of the Standing Stones on the Malfoy estate were Bluestone.

The Llewelyns were rich. Not only that, but there were no male heirs in the family. It all went to Gwladus as the eldest of three daughters and, by marriage, to the Malfoys. No wonder his mother and father had picked her.

So he would get his rich and pretty wife, his place at his father's side, the Mark of his Master and would walk the path as laid out for him from the day he was born. He'd be a good Malfoy and give his father the heir Lucius demanded. He'd persecute the Mudbloods and Muggles until the world was returned to its rightful owners. He'd stand at his father's side and fight those who opposed Voldemort and destroy them with the Dark magic drummed into him from childhood. He'd revel in the blood on his hands in the same way he'd seen his father and his father's friends celebrate that death and glory.

And what would he have in return?

Would he sleep the peaceful sleep of the innocent? Would he end up watching his own son walk the same path as he had and be proud of him? Would his ancestors be proud of him and of the way he'd upheld the Malfoy name? When had being a Malfoy and a Slytherin gone from being a proud heritage to bear, to synonymous with the Dark Lord and nothing else?

Would Harry still want him if he wore Voldemort's Mark?

The sound of a sigh pulled Draco abruptly from his thoughts. He froze, trying to get a direction for the sound, but it wasn't repeated. Very carefully, he pulled his arm away from his eyes, blinking in the light from the fire. He could see a figure silhouetted against the flickering flames. The owner was sitting on the floor, back resting against the couch almost in front of Draco, messy hair like a dark halo, tips on fire.

Even if it hadn't been for the messy hair, Draco would have known it was Harry. He closed his eyes, opening them again as if to check that this wasn't a dream and that he was actually awake. Yes, Harry really was here, sitting on the floor once again as he had been that night when they'd waited for the New Year to arrive. Draco wondered briefly how long Harry had been there and why he'd chosen to let Draco sleep. Hadn't he been dodging Harry since the fiasco in the Potions storeroom on Monday? Hadn't Draco chosen to run away from Hogwarts today because Gryffindor and Slytherin were having a joint Transfiguration class, and he couldn't bear to spend the afternoon knowing those green eyes were watching him?

Harry sighed again, his head tilting to one side, away from Draco, exposing his neck; for a moment Draco could do nothing but stare at the bared skin and the taut sinews underneath. As he watched the way the firelight reflected on the lightly tanned skin, he realised he didn't care _why _Harry was here. It was enough to be here in the same room with the Gryffindor. And, Draco realised, he actually felt a huge sense of relief at being with Harry again. It felt ... right, and he hadn't realised just how much he missed the other boy until now.

The black hair was shorter now, but it still curled around his ears and into the curve of his neck. Back at New Year he'd had to touch it to find out if Harry's hair was dry and brittle, but now he knew it was as soft as silk and ran through his fingers like flowing water. Carefully, Draco reached out a hand, tangled his fingers into the strands and waited for Harry to speak. But there were no words, just a soft groan as Harry leaned back into the curve of Draco's fingers.

The sound went straight to Draco's soul. How the hell was he going to keep his resolve and walk away when everything he wanted was right here?

His fingers tightened to the point where he knew it must hurt, and he pulled Harry's head around, seeing his face for the first time. Harry wasn't wearing his glasses, and his eyes were wide, pupils already dilated and almost obscuring the green.

Then with a flick of his tongue over parted lips, Harry whispered simply, "Draco."

It was enough. With a growl deep in his throat, Draco launched himself at Harry. Curling around the Gryffindor's body, he reached for him with his free hand; the other still locked tightly in the dark hair, and kissed him. It was hard and fast, with no real finesse, but Harry held on as Draco's momentum took them both to the floor. Harry landed on top, hands clutching reflexively at the body under his, a mirror of those that hung on to him before Draco rolled them over and over.

They hung onto each other, every touch more and more desperate with need.

Hands and mouths and lips and fingers and tongues everywhere. Touching and pulling. Licking and biting and kissing.

Draco was aware of Harry pulling at his shirt, tugging it from the waistband of his trousers, and then strong hands running up his sides as the shirt was pushed upwards. He hissed against Harry's mouth as fingers tugged at his nipples and in response, he tore at Harry's shirt, two or three buttons ripping free as he gave up trying to unbutton it. And Harry's mouth was on his stomach ... his navel ... hands pushing his trousers down ... his underwear....

Then ... oh glory ... Draco sucked in great gulps of air as that wonderful mouth surrounded him in its wet heat. He felt himself go faint as blood rushed from his head, pooling in his groin, hardening him as Harry's tongue worked its own magic.

Everything slowed down as Harry pulled back, his tongue making its languid journey and all Draco could do was whimper in appreciation. He was on his side with Harry mouthing him and gentle fingers feathering between his legs. Harry had somehow twisted around, and Draco realised he could reach the boy's belly. With slightly shaking fingers, he pushed the remains of Harry's shirt back from his torso and licked around the exposed navel, tracing the red and gold lines of the Celtic marking that circled the little depression. Finally, he dipped his tongue into the hollow, in time with Harry's movements.

Gasping against the building pressure, Draco fumbled at the waistband of Harry's trousers, his fingers suddenly clumsy as he tried to undo the button and zip. He let out a grunt of pleasure-pain as he felt one of Harry's fingers, the sound turning into shallow panting as the finger moved. With a supreme effort, Draco pushed at the grey school trousers, managing to get them past Harry's hips before giving up his struggle. As Harry took him back into his mouth, Draco hung onto his lover's legs, his forehead pressing hard against Harry's thigh. Then Harry pulled up, his tongue like silky sandpaper against the sensitised skin.

"Harry." The name was whispered, drawn out long as a groan, as Draco licked languidly down the line of dark hair leading from Harry's navel into his boxers. He did it again and again until the hair was wet and his tongue dipped past the elastic with each journey.

He was aware of Harry's every reaction to what he was doing by the pressure on his own erection, by the way Harry moved and the way he became still. He could still feel Harry's finger intimately, as well as the other fingers of that hand pressing rhythmically against his sensitive skin.

Then everything stopped as Draco's tongue slipped passed the elastic and connected briefly with Harry. The warm, wet mouth let go of him and the fingers became still. Draco also backed off and for the first time in what seemed like forever, they looked at each other. The jade-green eyes that met his own were wide, and Draco realised that his tongue was the only one to have ever touched Harry like this.

Holding the gaze, Draco leaned forward and mouthed Harry through the cotton, feeling it becoming damp. Harry's finger moved spasmodically, flicking against Draco, sending pleasure seeping through him. He decided Harry must have seen the way Draco had reacted to the touch, because the movement was repeated, this time with harder pressure. Draco responded with a thrust of his hips towards Harry.

Draco's eyelids fluttered closed against the growing pleasure. He wanted Harry. Needed Harry. Even if it meant defying his father ... defying everybody ... even defying Voldemort. This was the person he should be with ... not his rich, pretty wife-to-be or his father or with anyone else.

Harry was his need and his want.

And he needed to taste him now. Draco quickly flicked back the elastic of Harry's boxers, freeing him from the confines of the cotton. He let his fingers feather over Harry, pausing briefly as his partner's hips flicked forward. Draco wanted to take Harry into his mouth, but he was....

What was he? Scared? Was this fear? Was it a deep-seated reluctance to give up control and give someone else the power to dominate him? He remembered back to the previous summer and the wonderful sex play with his Quidditch coach Alex Palmer. It had all been incredible and wonderful, apart, that was, from the blowjobs. Draco hadn't minded giving them, but just at the moment Alex would come, his fingers would curl into Draco's hair and stop him from pulling away, anchoring him in place. He'd never refused when Alex had asked, of course, but the feeling of being held still lingered in Draco's mind -- the choking sensation of something pushing against the inside of his mouth and deep into the back of his throat.

But this was _his_ Harry and it was more than just sex. Even if he never told Harry, this was an act of trust, as much as needing Harry to take him after Voldemort's appearance in Draco's room had been. It was cleansing. Purifying.

The hand around Draco tightened and he felt everything about Harry tighten up. Harry's hips bucked just once and Harry came with a heart-rending moan. The sound vibrated around Draco, and his own climax followed almost immediately with a mind-shattering intensity.

Draco didn't know how long he lay there, panting, on the floor. He was flat on his back, arms thrown out to either side, aware of Harry's head pillowed on his stomach. His own shirt was pulled up to his armpits and his trousers were wrapped around his calves, pinning his legs together from the knees down.

He was aware of Harry's smell on his skin, and Draco knew he had to hold his lover. His fingers wound into ink-black hair and he tugged lightly. Harry shifted, looked up at Draco and crawled up his body, covering Draco's chest with his own. As their eyes met, Harry smiled lazily and nipped at Draco's chin before collapsing, fluid-like, on top of the blond.

Absently, Draco continued playing with Harry's hair, nuzzling into it to smell and taste it as his fingers teased through the tangles. He wanted to say something, anything, but for some reason could think of nothing. He could feel Harry's cock nestled against his own, and his free hand trailed over the rumpled school shirt to knead gently at the firm globe of Harry's arse.

Harry shifted, his legs falling apart to rest on either side of Draco's, and he pushed himself up to look at the boy beneath him. The liquid smile on Harry's face slowly broadened and finally he broke the silence.

"Kiss me."

It wasn't quite a request, nor was it a demand, but Draco needed no further prompting. His fingers tightened again in Harry's hair and he pulled him down. This time the kiss was less urgent, but he was aware of an intensity to it that hadn't been there in the past. If the way they had kissed earlier had been _desperation,_ this was _beginnings,_ Draco decided.

He let his tongue and lips relearn everything about Harry's mouth and face. From the shape of his jaw to the curve of his cheekbones, Draco let himself roam freely. He kissed closed eyes, imagining he could count each and every eyelash, and he caressed the zigzag scar with the tip of his tongue as if his very touch could smooth it away forever.

And all the time Draco was aware of Harry's weight resting on his hips, sometimes lightly, sometimes with a weight he realised he craved. The way they seemed to fit so well together ... the way Harry's nipples pressed against his own ... the way his hands curled around Draco's body, fingertips brushing over skin as if Harry was on a journey of rediscovery as well.

When he finally pulled away, panting for breath and only too aware of the rising pressure in his groin again, Draco studied the face looking down at him and smiled. "Shouldn't you be in class?"

Harry smiled back. "Shouldn't you?" He pushed himself away and Draco struggled not to hang on like a drowning man. But Harry only reached for the blond's clothes. "You're wearing too much." He pulled at the shirt and Draco obligingly let Harry tug it off him before fighting with the trousers. The clothing joined the growing pile of discarded items strewn across the floor, leaving Harry naked and Draco wearing only his school tie.

They fell back to the floor, the warm rug beneath their backs. One of Draco's arms was flung out from his side and Harry had nestled into his shoulder. "What are you doing here?"

Harry laughed. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?" One of his hands reached for Draco's stomach, flattening over the pale skin. "Or has Hagrid suddenly given you a key?"

Draco felt his muscles tightening under the touch. "I just needed somewhere --" His voice faltered, not wanting to add _to think about what I've done to you. _"To think."

"I don't mind." The hand on Draco's belly twitched. "You can come here whenever you want."

"Harry...."

"No, I mean it. I like the idea that you want to come here."

Draco wrapped an arm round Harry's shoulder, the momentum pulling Harry onto his side so he curled along Draco's length. "You shouldn't go giving people carte blanche to come here. It's your place."

"I know, but...." Harry shrugged, his arm tightening around Draco. "Finding you here today." He curled a leg around Draco's, his toes flicking back and forth over the inside of his calf. "And the sex ... wow, Draco, that was incredible. But it's left me wondering...."

"What?" Draco's hand was running up and down Harry's back, subconsciously counting as his fingers slid over the ridge of each vertebra.

"If it was a one-off for old-time's sake or if maybe you'd changed your mind about us?"

The stroking movement stilled and, for a moment, Draco held his breath. "Harry ... look, I'm sorry."

"I mean, I've been going crazy since Monday trying to work out what must have happened to make you want to leave and thinking that I'd never get to talk to you again, let alone to have this even one last time. But you came here and that has to mean something." Harry twisted a little so that he was looking at Draco. "Does it mean something or are you going to get up and walk out again?"

"Harry, I never _meant _to hurt you. I was ... I was just trying to...." Draco closed his eyes, not wanting to see the green eyes staring down at him, the colour so intense that he felt they were looking into his soul. "I thought it was the best thing to do ... for both of us."

"Did I do something to you?"

"No, Harry." He opened his eyes again, knowing his voice was tinged with annoyance aimed squarely at himself rather than Harry. "You didn't do anything. It was all down to me."

For several minutes, the two were silent, Harry watching Draco thoughtfully, and when he finally spoke it was with a quiet voice. "So, are you back for good or was this just a lucky coincidence? Don't you think it's fate that we've ended up in the same place at the same time?" When Draco didn't answer immediately, it soon became clear Harry had taken his silence as a negative response. "Okay, but at least you can tell me why this is the best thing for us and how you managed to get in here." Harry dropped onto his back, his head still resting on Draco's arm but no longer touching him anywhere else.

"Floo." The single word was a dejected whisper.

"Flew?" Harry matched the tone. "But how did you get inside? The wards around the building are keyed to me."

"Not 'flew' as in flying. Floo." Draco gestured towards the fireplace. "You know, the fire."

Harry sat up suddenly, clearly surprised at the admission. Concern flickered over his face. "There's a Floo network connected to here?"

"It's not part of a network. It's just the fireplace in my room." Draco felt vulnerable with Harry arching over him, green eyes intense and forceful.

"Is that how you got here before and how you disappeared so quickly?"

"It's safe -- no one else can access it."

"That's not the point, Draco." The distance between them was growing. "You were the one who told me I needed to improve the security here and now I find out you managed to set up some sort of private transport network. If you can do that ... get through the wards ... then how do I know someone else couldn't do the same thing? You should have told me. Where else can you get to without others knowing? Is that how you got into Gryffindor Tower?"

"No." Draco sat up, back against the sofa and arms around his drawn up knees. "Look, Harry, I only used it that one day -- after Valentine's -- and I haven't used it since until today. The Floo is keyed to me so no one else can use it. As for your wards, I don't know how I bypassed them; maybe it's because the Floo was already here when you set them up." He started getting to his feet. "I'll disconnect it when I get back, and you can ward off the fireplace as well."

"Draco...." Harry was on his knees, pushing at the blond so he overbalanced and fell back onto the sofa. He settled between the boy's spread knees, effectively trapping him there.

"You've got permission to come here and to be out of school," Draco continued. "They've always let you get away with things no one else does. If I got caught coming here, I'd be confined to school grounds and be in detention from now to doomsday. I set the Floo up because I lost my broom that night. When you weren't at breakfast the next morning, I thought I'd come back to check that you were okay, but I didn't have a pass and if I'd walked it would have taken ages to get here. Setting up the Floo seemed like a good idea at the time. Then today I needed to get away and this seemed like a good place." The words tumbled out until he ran out of breath, forcing him to gulp for air. "I need to go."

"You don't have to." Harry's fingers were swirling patterns on Draco's thighs.

"Yes I do. Nothing's changed, Harry, and I shouldn't have come here. We don't belong together and never have, and all we're going to do is end up hurting each other. Stick with your Gryffindor pals; at least with them you know where you stand. Once I've gone, seal off the fireplace and I won't bother you again." He pushed Harry away with much more force than he'd originally intended and begun hunting for his trousers, desperate to do something ... anything but look at Harry who was sitting silently on the floor. In his mind the same mantra repeated over and over -- _I'm doing this for Harry_ -- and for the first time he could ever remember, Draco realised he hated his father for expecting so much of his son.

As Draco struggled to turn the trousers the right way, he became aware of a finger touching his foot. He looked down and froze. Harry was sitting at his feet looking up at him with jewel-bright eyes.

"Do you know something, Draco? I've been so angry and upset with you since Monday. Angry because you wouldn't talk to me and tell me what happened in the Potions storeroom, or what I've done to make you act that way. Do you know how much time I've spent trying to talk to you? How many hours I've spent waiting outside Slytherin for someone to come by so I could get in?"

"No...."

"Do you really think I'm going to let you go now without some sort of explanation?"

"I guess...."

"Bloody right you're not going. Not yet. If you really want to leave me, I'll let you go, but at least have the decency to tell me the real reason _why._ Don't just walk way again." Then, as he finished talking, Harry suddenly leaned forward and placed a kiss on Draco's foot.

The gesture was too much. The difference between the demanding tone and the gentle, almost subservient kiss cut into what little resolve Draco still had left. "Don't!" He reached down, pushing Harry away. "Stop. You don't understand."

"Then tell me" Harry reached for Draco's tie and pulled down hard on it, so the Slytherin ended up back on the floor. "Make me understand." His voice was forceful, hinting at the power captured just below the surface.

"Tell you what? That I've betrayed you? That I've put you in danger?" Draco could see Harry working at a response. "For once in my life, I'm trying to do the right thing here, Harry." He was breathing rapidly as he gripped at the other boy's shoulder, hard enough to leave little impressions on his skin. "Let me go now while I still can. Before it's too late."

"No." Harry scooted forward a little and finally released the green and silver tie. "Not until you tell me what you _think_ you did to me."

"Isn't it enough I was carrying around a Portkey that would whisk you away to God-knows-where? And that I had a second one in my room that knocked you out?"

"You've told me about them." Harry rested a hand on Draco's knee. "Besides, you were just doing what your father wanted."

"I'm responsible for what happened when you were attacked your room that night."

"No, you're not ... I've had dreams and visions for years, and sometimes Voldemort does things that makes my scar hurt. It wasn't you."

Draco flinched at the use of the Dark Lord's name. He wished Harry wouldn't use it so freely. "That night, I did some magic. I was confused about ... about us and where I was going. I wanted to --" He met Harry's gaze for a moment before looking past him, to focus on a spot on the wall. Then he straightened and looked at Harry again, the Malfoy pride returning. He'd done what he thought was right at the time, and he wasn't going to be cowed by it now. "I wanted to talk to my grandmother ... to summon her...."

"Necromancy? That's illegal."

"Don't be so naive, Harry, people do it all the time. But this time something went wrong. I had up all the wards and protections you can imagine, but he somehow got through instead and he took me to your room and I saw you there...."

"Who got through?"

"Him ... the Dark Lord. He showed me you as a little boy and he told me that you were nothing and that he was going to beat you and if I didn't do what he wanted he'd --" Draco's voice hitched. "Punish me and hurt you because I'd been pledged to him from the beginning."

"Draco, I don't know who you think you called up...."

"I don't _think,_ I **_know _**who it was. He could have killed you that night. He expected you to die."

"But I didn't die. " Harry's voice was a whisper. "You saved me, remember."

"If I hadn't tried to summon her, I wouldn't have had to save you, would I?" Draco let out an angry, frustrated breath. "He was there, Harry -- in Hogwarts -- and I let him in. He's got people in the castle who are trying to hurt you and I helped."

"What happened on Monday?" Harry stroked at Draco's cheek.

"He came back ... in the storeroom." Draco gave an involuntary shudder at the memory of the incident, his breath hitching in his chest before he continued. "I don't think he was there physically but he's using one of his people to get at me. He told me I had to choose, and if I chose you he'd destroy both of us."

"And is that why you walked out?"

"Yes. Don't you see that if I'm not there he can't use me against you?"

"Draco, he's going to try to kill me anyway, whether you're with me or not. That's the way it's always been and the two of us being together doesn't change anything. When it comes down to it in the end, Voldemort and I are going to fight."

"But I'm _not_ going to let him use me against you. He _knows,_ Harry. He knows we're together and as long as he knows that then I'm a liability to you. So this has to end, right now!" Once again he tried to push Harry away, but the Gryffindor's arms held on tight.

"And I don't get any say in this?"

"I'm trying to keep you safe."

Harry snorted and his eyes flashed dangerously. "Thanks, Malfoy, but I can look after myself."

"Fine, Potter. Then bloody well do it." With that, Draco began wrestling out of Harry's grip, a determination on his face that this time he was going to leave. "Get the fuck off me!"

Harry hung on while Draco tried to push him away. In a tangle of arms and legs, they struggled on the floor until, in victory, Harry ended up sitting atop the supine Slytherin, knees planted on either side of his torso, hands pinning Draco's wrists to the floor on either side of his head.

Panting for breath, Harry leaned forward. "Tell me that you don't care for me, Draco." He bent to Draco's open mouth and sucked in his bottom lip in a surprisingly gentle gesture after the struggle of a moment before. "Hold me and kiss me right now, and then tell me your heart isn't breaking and your soul isn't screaming for mine, just the way mine does for you. Let me kiss you and tell me that you don't ever want to feel me do that again. If you can do that ... really do that so that I believe you, then I'll let you go and never bother you again. Because you won't be able to Draco. Because you want me. And I want you." Harry bent to Draco again, carefully kissing him, first his forehead, then slowly working his way down to Draco's mouth, which he slowly kissed closed lips until they gave and his lover responded to him.

When Harry finally pulled back, his eyes raked over Draco with a possessive fervour. "If you want to go, then go because you don't care about me. Never ... ever ... go because of what you think Voldemort might do."

"Harry...."

"He's already taken so much and I _won't_ let him take you as well." With that, Harry released his hold and slithered back down Draco's body so he was sitting between the blond's legs. Then pulling the Slytherin up, he climbed onto Draco's lap, wrapping his legs around the slim waist, and leaned in to once again kiss Draco's mouth. After only a moment's hesitation, Draco responded, moaning into Harry's sweetness and letting their tongues touch and tussle with each other. When Harry finally pulled back, there was desire on his face. "Do you want this or not?"

_Oh yes, Harry, I want you so badly._ The words echoed through Draco's mind. Why did Harry have to always make things so difficult? If only he'd never come here, never touched Harry again then he could have kept his resolve and stay away. It was hard not to put his arms around the other boy and hold him tightly against his chest.

He gave a little chuckle as he realised that was exactly what he was doing ... holding Harry close and feeling his breath on his skin. "Of course I want you. But there are other things going on, Harry. Things that are going to hurt us both if we stay together."

"We can deal with it, Draco. If we have each other, we can get through anything."

"Really? Just imagine what people will say when they find out." He gave a cold laugh. "Imagine what your godfather and all your friends will say."

"What about your friends? Your mum and dad?"

"They'd disown me on the spot." He could feel Harry's arms around him making little movements that made him shiver.

Harry pulled back a little, sitting up. "Draco, remember that I once asked you something ... if there were no barriers, what would you want? I'm going to ask you that again and whatever you tell me, I'll accept, even if I don't agree with it or like it. Even if you say you want to leave." He reached forward and pressed his hand on Draco's chest, palm resting over his heart. "If there were no barriers, Draco, what would you want?"

Draco looked down at the hand. He could feel the shape against his chest, the heat of each individual finger, and it was a warmth he never wanted to be without. But what was he willing to give up for it?

"I don't want his Mark. Is that what you want me to say?"

"Can't you see it isn't about what I want?" Harry scowled. "This is about you and what you want. If you want to join him and take his Mark, then say so."

"What do I have if I don't go to him?"

"Anything, Draco, Voldemort isn't the beginning and end of everything. If you want to go off and hunt for dragons in Russia, then you can. Or be a code breaker for Gringotts." Harry looked down at his hand, which was still on Draco's chest, before looking back up to meet the grey eyes again. "Or you could have me. But, Draco, the most important thing is that whatever you do, it's because you want it. Not because of me, or your father, or Voldemort, or Dumbledore, or your mother, or your friends. It has to be what _you_ want."

"What about the consequences?"

"We'll have to deal with those as well." Harry slid his hand up to Draco's face, cupping his cheek. "Do you want to leave? I won't stop you if that's really what you want."

Draco's eyes closed at the touch and, when he opened them again, they were moist with emotion. "No. I want ... need this. I need you," he whispered. "But I haven't changed ... my views are the still the same, so don't expect me to join Dumbledore's army." He reached down to cup Harry's arse, pulling him closer, and could feel himself begin to harden as Harry pushed against him. "I'd like to stay if you'll have me."

"I'd like that, Draco. I'd like that a lot."

For several minutes neither spoke, content for the moment just to hold one another. Then, nibbling at Harry's ear, Draco finally spoke. "What about you? What would you give up?"

"If I could, I'd fly away with you right this minute, but I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because he'd still come after me no matter where I went. The only way I can be free is to get rid of him." Harry rested against Draco's chest. "Don't laugh, but there's a prophecy."

Draco smiled a little and nuzzled into the ink-black hair. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"Want to hear it?"

"Do I have a choice? If I'm going to be stuck with you then I'll have to get use to things like this." Draco grinned, but remained quiet as Harry recited the prophecy, hands slowly stroking and petting him.

"You see, I don't have a choice really."

"No, I guess you don't. In which case, I'd better hang around to keep an eye on you, hadn't I, because you sure as hell won't look after yourself." He was sure Harry was smiling.

Disentangling himself, Harry finally came to his feet and, reaching for the green and silver tie, pulled gently on it. "Come on, get up."

For a moment Draco didn't move, as he studied Harry, taking in the slim naked body and Harry's clearly aroused state. There was something in Harry's expression as well, an almost predatory look in the green eyes as he held onto the tie. Finally Draco got to his feet. "Where are we going?"

Harry captured Draco's lips in a brief kiss before leading him towards the bedroom. "Somewhere much more comfortable."

Stepping from the fireplace, Draco quickly brushed himself down, scattering ash on the floor. The elated mood he'd been in when he'd left Hagrid's cottage had lasted for precisely two more minutes before it began to fade away.

The room hadn't changed and he knew he was no different, but something was missing both physically and emotionally. It took him those two minutes to realise it was the warmth that was Harry. They'd spent the rest of the afternoon in a delightful tumble of sex and talking about unimportant things, and now that he was back in his own world, Draco was reminded of exactly what he was getting into and all that he stood to lose, whatever side of the fence he came down on.

It wasn't getting any easier, he decided.

He quickly stripped off his clothes, knowing he had to make himself decent before going to dinner. They'd had the most delicious shower before Draco had returned, and he still could imagine the feel of Harry's hands soaping him clean, but his clothes were definitely not in a suitable state to go to dinner in. Padding across to his wardrobe, he began rummaging for something to wear, the search excellent diversion therapy so he didn't have to consider the past ... or the future.

It didn't work, however, because it wasn't long before he caught sight of something that made him stop in his tracks. It was the photograph of himself, Alex Palmer and David Morrello in its silver picture frame sitting innocently on the shelf. Draco had found out about Morrello's true identify over the previous summer and had been sworn to secrecy by both his father and Voldemort.

It was a photograph he'd always been fond of because it reminded him of the summer and also of the fact that Lord Voldemort held him in high esteem. The Dark Lord didn't like having his photograph taken, so to have him in this one had been a joy to Lucius. In fact, it had been his father who'd given it to Draco as one of his leaving gifts at the start of the school year. There had been something about the frame that was special as well. Draco frowned as he tried to remember, and finally he crossed to the shelf to pick it up. Something about it belonging to Tom Riddle.

He ran his finger over the delicate jade inlay on the silver frame, watching as the images in the photo moved ... Alex ginning, David with a knowing look in his blue eyes, himself jumping between excitement and awe. Excitement because Alex's hand was caressing his arse and Draco knew what that would eventually lead to. Awe because the most powerful wizard in the world had his hand on Draco's shoulder.

Sometimes when he looked at the photograph, he thought he caught a flash of red in those blue eyes and that would always remind him of who the man really was beneath the delusion charms that masked the Dark Lord's true form. Lucius had once told him that one of Voldemort's desires was to rid himself of the snake-like form of his real body and replace it with David's good looks in physical form. But the sheer power that emanated from that snake-like form was incredible and it was enough to cow all his followers. How different from the charming and charismatic David. Draco had often wondered which one was the real Voldemort.

How many people knew the truth, Draco wondered, about who David really was. Did Harry know? Was the Dark Lord's secret safe from Dumbledore? Did his father's spies know?

Draco studied what had been a prized possession. He'd always loved the idea of having a photograph on show of the Dark Lord, knowing that anyone who saw it wouldn't realise what Draco had in his room. To have an image of Voldemort right here in the stronghold of the Dark Lord's enemy, had seemed like one little victory in the ongoing war.

How quickly things could change.

He'd seen a different side to the person he'd once thought of as god-like and indestructible. Someone whom he'd considered to be the ultimate answer to everything. Wasn't that what he'd been taught all his life? He remembered the lectures on pure-blood supremacy, the casual discussions over dinner of how Muggles were destroying the world and that the only way to save it was to rid it of the vermin, and the debates of what should happen to Mudbloods and half-bloods.

It had made him feel special and important. He, Draco Malfoy, was one of the _Chosen_, one of the people who would inherit a world wiped clean of the vermin, and the pure-blooded ruled. And reigning over it all would be the Dark Lord ... terrifying in his anger to his enemies and magnanimous in his pleasure to his friends.

Yet, deep in his childhood memory he could remember a voice telling him that Voldemort wasn't the answer and that binding himself to the Dark Lord wasn't the way forward for him. He'd only been four or five, and the words whispered by his grandmother hadn't made any sense back then.

But now it had started to add up. He realised that there had never been a need to try and raise his grandmother. She'd given him all the answers he'd required before she'd died and all he had needed was Harry to help him understand her.

It was going to be difficult, he knew that, but he would talk to his father over Easter. Lucius had mentioned him being accepted into the Order of Death Eaters at Halloween, so he had some time to sort this out. He knew his father would be devastated that Draco was going to refuse to join the Dark Lord, but he would soften the blow by telling Lucius he wasn't ready yet ... that he wanted to get married and settle into his new life first; that at least would buy him some more time.

Marriage! Gwladus Llewelyn. Draco closed his eyes. How the hell was he going to deal with that? If Gwladus was at his birthday party and their engagement was announced, could he really refuse? He didn't want to spend his life with some girl he'd only met twice in his whole life, bedding her just to get a Malfoy heir. His mother had once told him that she'd grown to love his father and that was just the way things worked. Would he grow to love his wife over time? Or would he just spend his life thinking about what he could have had, hating her for not being that person?

Draco knew he wasn't ready to get married yet, so he would just have to play that by ear and worm his way out of any official agreements.

The truth was, he knew what he wanted and that person was Harry. But would Harry _still_ want him once they'd finished at Hogwarts?

Carefully, he slid the photograph from the frame. He couldn't keep it here in his room any longer. Couldn't have those eyes follow him around the room and feel that hand touching him. The marks from where Voldemort had gripped his shoulder might have finally gone, but he could still remember the pain from the Dark Lord's fingers digging into his flesh after his disastrous Dark magic spells. David's hand in the photograph rested on the same spot on his shoulder, and Draco felt like he'd been scarred by the touch.

He thought briefly about where his loyalties now lay. Should he tell Harry about David? Should he go to Dumbledore? Should he keep what he knew a secret? Tapping the photo against his finger, he stared into the distance, his mind whirling over possible options. In the end he knew he couldn't tell anyone ... not just yet. If he owned up to Dumbledore, the chances were the Headmaster might prevent him from going home, and Draco knew he needed to talk to his father and mother first.

Putting the frame into a drawer, Draco walked across the room and stopped in front of the fireplace. He crouched down and after a moment's hesitation fed the photograph into the flames. It crackled and blistered as it caught fire and, somewhere in the back of Draco's mind, he thought he heard himself scream.

**_Malfoy Manor ..._**

The smouldering embers in the fireplace of Lucius' study suddenly burst into flame, and both he and David stared at the rising inferno. The blaze flared black for a moment, as though they were made of smoke rather than fire, and as they finally faded back to normal red-yellow, the Dark Lord turned to his host.

"Draco has destroyed the photograph."

The words were simple and held no recrimination, but Lucius was familiar with the tone of Voldemort's voice and knew that if he wasn't careful he might just feel the Dark Lord's wrath. Not a prospect he savoured. All he could do was give a single nod of agreement because his throat had clenched up and he couldn't speak. What the hell was his son playing at? He surreptitiously glanced at David, watching him stare into the flames.

"And he's hidden the frame away. You know what that means?" Steel fingers clasped at Lucius' shoulder.

"Yes, Master." It meant they could no longer tell what Draco was up to. The photo had been like a pair of eyes in the school and through those of the photographic David they had been able to know what was going on. Now that link had been effectively removed.

"I suggest that you learn how to control your son, Lucius, or I might just have to control him for you." Blue eyes fixed Lucius with a cold glinting stare. "And I don't think either he ... or you ... would enjoy that."

_Because of you  
I forgot the smart ways to lie  
Because of you  
I'm running out of reasons to cry  
When the friends are gone  
When the party's over  
We will still belong to each other  
  
Underneath Your Clothes  
There's an endless story  
There's the man I chose  
There's my territory_

_Underneath Your Clothes_ -- Shakira  
  
-------------------------------------------------------

**Chapter 9: The Art of Protection: **Harry and Snape talk more. Sirius takes Harry for a walk in the woods. Harry gets artistic. Draco submits.

-------------------------------------------------------

**Author's Notes**

_Q.E.D! As spoken by Ron._

_Q. E. D. _is an abbreviation of the Latin phrase "quod erat demonstrandum", literally meaning "that which was to be demonstrated". The phrase is used after the conclusion of some line of reasoning when a theory has been proved, especially in mathematical or logical proofs.

**Special thanks:**

**To my Betas** (in alphabetical order): _Golden Snitch, Milena, Olivia, Nancy, Plumeria _and _Stacey._ I don't know where I would be without these people. Special mention must go to **Olivia** for her help with plotting, for listening to me wibble and for her endless patience, and to Plumeria for her help with the perennial ratings problems. And welcome to **Golden Snitch** ... thanks so much for your excellent input ... and the dreams grins.

**To everyone at LiveJournal **who have answered my stupid questions over the last few months.

**To everyone on at WorldsColliding** for their continued support and inspiration.

**To everyone who has reviewed.** I love reading your comments -- thank you so much for taking the time to write.

**Artwork:**

I am very lucky to have several new pieces of artwork drawn for this chapter by **Laelithe** (lj - godonthewater). Her artwork of Draco finding Harry at Hagrid's cottage is just stunning. The art by **Lisa Rourke** wasn't actually drawn for Resolution, but she has been kind enough to let me link to it. All artwork is linked in the appropriate places throughout the chapter. If the links don't work, you can check it out here: http:www.worlds-colliding.co.uk/Artworkindex.html

**Lisa Rourke's artwork: **Harry thinking, Draco

**Laelithe's artwork:** Ron, Draco sleeping, Draco finds Harry at Hagrid's cottage, Harry and Draco cuddle.

There are two Yahoo groups associated with my stories:

The adult group for Resolution can be found at: **WorldsColliding: The Restricted general group can be found at ****WorldsColliding.** The R-rated version of _Resolution_ and my non-slash story _Coming of Age_ can be found reviews are more than welcome, either here on the Fiction Alley Board (click on review), to me at frances.potterworlds-colliding.co.uk or feel free to post your comments at WorldsColliding.


	9. The Art of Protection

**Title: Resolution. Chapter 9: The Art of Protection (9/?)**

**Author name:** Frances Potter

**Author email:**

**Category:** Slash (Harry/Draco), Humour, Romance, Angst

**Keywords:** Harry, Draco, 7th year, Slash

**Spoilers: **All books

**Rating:** R. Slash. Male/Male sexual relationship. Language. Adult themes.

**Summary:**  
_res·o·lu·tion, noun -- solving of doubts, problems, questions etc. The Concise Oxford Dictionary_  
When you've spent six years fighting evil, all you really want is a quiet time. But when your name is Harry Potter the chances of that are very slim. Exams, friends, lovers, enemies, Quidditch, birthdays, the war and Draco all conspire to make Harry's final six months very, very complicated and the end of term a long way off. Slash (Harry/Draco)

**Chapter 9: The Art of Protection** Harry and Snape talk more. Sirius takes Harry for a walk in the woods. Harry gets artistic. Draco submits

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

The concept of Earth magic and seeing stones are both based loosely on ideas in "The Amtrak Wars" books by Patrick Tilley (published by Sphere).

**Dedication:This chapter is dedicated to ****EVERYONE** who has stuck with this story over the last two and a half years. Thank you for your patience and support.

**Author's note:** _Resolution_ was started before the publication of _Order of the Phoenix _and is based on the canon of PS/SS, CoS, PoA and GoF. While certain canon facts from _OotP_ will be incorporated in the story (such as spells and locations), the events of Harry's 5th year in _Resolution_ are **NOT** the same as those in **OotP**.

Amongst other things, _Resolution_ makes the following assumptions:

1. Sirius Black is alive.  
2. Voldemort's return at the end of GoF is not common knowledge to the Wizarding world and many people, including the Ministry of Magic still refuse to believe it.  
3. Lucius Malfoy is still considered to be a pillar of the community and any connections he might have with the Dark Lord remain a secret.  
4. Draco Malfoy was never picked as a prefect.  
5. Wizards and witches come of age at eighteen.  
6. Wizards love to ski!

------------------------------

**_A resolution to avoid an evil is seldom framed til the evil is so far advanced as to make avoidance impossible_** -- Thomas Hardy

------------------------------

Chapter 9: The Art of Protection 

**_Harry's Journal ... Sunday 22nd March 1998_**

We're back together. He's told me everything -- about his magic and about what happened in the storeroom. Afterwards he shagged me senseless and it was incredible.

I love the way he makes me feel and how for a little while nothing matters apart from him inside me. I can lose myself in him and forget about prophecies and magic and Snape and Dumbledore and what they all want me to do.

With him there, I think I could get through this. I wish he was the Morning Star's Child from the prophecy. But what are the chances of both of us being part of the same prophecy? Next to impossible.

The last few days have gone the full range from brilliant to frightening. The brilliant bit is that we've found places to meet all over Hogwarts ... I didn't realise there _was_ a room behind the tapestry of Andros the Invincible in the North Tower, or that a cupboard appears in the Charms classroom on Fridays. Sometimes I just hold him and let him tell me what he wants to do to me. Once I thought I would come from him just talking to me. Other times I let him take me. But the great thing is that the urgency has gone. In the past we always seemed to do it because of some great cataclysmic happening -- like the argument in the Archive -- but now we've been messing around and it feels incredible.

The frightening thing is that I've been having nightmares about him. They're similar to the ones I had before when Voldemort Marked him and he then Marked me. I told him about the dreams last night, and that I don't think he should go home, but he keeps telling me not to be stupid and that his dad would never hurt him.

He knows about the prophecy now, but not the bit Hermione found out, and I've still not told him about the Earth Magic. I feel bad about that, but then I haven't told Ron that either, so as I'm not telling either of them it seems okay ... it's not like I'm lying by not saying anything just yet. Besides, both Sirius and Snape keep on at me about not telling people. I've got a lesson with Sirius later -- he said something about going out to the Forest. Then I've got to see Snape tomorrow. I think I've made up my mind about what he wants as well. I have to help him.

I wonder if I can do anything to help protect him from his dad and from Voldemort. Or does this magic only work when someone has already been Marked? Maybe I should ask Snape.

Then there's his birthday. What do you get an eighteen-year-old boy you've never given anything to in the past? I still don't know that much about him ... not even what his favourite food is. I bet his friends will throw a party or something before he goes home. Maybe I should talk to Hermione ... she sorted out things for Seamus and Ron, so she might have some ideas.

Maybe I should wrap myself up ... but he can have me whenever he wants.

**_The Forbidden Forest...._**

"This is it." Sirius swept his arms in a dramatic arc, his grin growing at the look of awe on Harry's face.

"Wow!" Harry turned to his godfather, then back to the clearing they'd just stepped into. It was incredible to think that one moment he'd been deep in the darkness of the Forbidden Forest, and the next in this sunlit grove. It would have been easy to walk straight by, he thought, but then the Forest was full of surprises -- unicorns and enormous spiders, for example.

The grove was almost circular, surrounded by trees. A waterfall cascaded down a rocky outcrop into a pool of clear water, which took up most of the open area. It looked like, Harry decided, an idealised version of a fairy glade or of some subtropical paradise. Not only that, but the plants surrounding the pool shouldn't have been in bloom at this time of year, and the colours seemed to be brighter than normal.

And how had he missed the sound of the waterfall as they'd got closer?

"It's incredible. It doesn't look real."

Sirius had turned his face to the sun, basking in the warmth. "Oh, it's real ... in a magical way, of course."

"But why isn't it crawling with people? I know we're not supposed to come into the Forest, but people do. I can't believe no one's found it." Crossing to the pool, Harry knelt on the grass and dipped his hand in. "It's warm!" he gasped in surprise.

"I know." Sirius threw himself down on the ground, lying back comfortably. "It's incredible to swim in there."

"I take it you've been here before then." The humour in Harry's voice was clear. "Recently or back when you were at school?"

"Oh, this is one place the Marauders never found. Albus showed it to me the summer after your fourth year. I'd been on the run for two years by then and he thought it would do me good to rest here for a few days; as always he was right. As for people finding it, they can't. You have to be shown it by someone who knows about it. Albus showed me, he was shown by someone else, and now I'm showing you."

"So I could bring Ron and Hermione here?"

"Not quite that simple. The person you bring has to have a need, which could be anything. My need was that I was exhausted after all the years in Azkaban and then being on the run; I thought my body and mind were falling apart. Albus knew that being here would help and it did. You'll know when it's right to show someone else because if there isn't a need then you just wouldn't be able to find it." Sirius frowned thoughtfully. "Though that might not be the case with you."

Harry sat back on the grass, crossed his legs, and picked a blade of grass. "So, what is it? Some sort of healing spring?" He chewed absently on the grass.

"Can't you feel it? Feel the energy?"

"Mmmmm. It's really strong ... almost like it's making my fingers tingle. It's like...." He stopped as something whizzed past him. "What the...." Instinctively, he reached for his wand, but it wasn't there; Sirius had told him to leave it back at the castle. "What was that?"

Sirius was grinning when Harry finally looked at him. "Yes, Harry, there really are fairies at the bottom of your garden."

Something flicked past Harry again, and he had the impression of fluttering wings, but it whizzed away before he could get a better look. "Real fairies?"

"Yeah ... these ones are okay, but some can be a bit violent. They're attracted to the energy here." Sirius paused thoughtfully. "Or maybe the energy is here because they are." He sat up, suddenly looking very intense. "You may be part of the outside world, but this is your world as well, Harry ... this is your birthright."

The bemused expression on Harry's face wasn't helped by the fact he currently had one of the little creatures fluttering on his head. Sirius shooed it away.

"You know we've talked about energy points and how Earth Magic is connected like a web through and around the world. There's an energy point at Stonehenge and another at Glastonbury. This is the point for Hogwarts, and it's why the Founders picked this place for the castle. Lines of energy through the earth and air connect them all. Muggles can sometimes sense the lines ... they call them ley lines and they find them with divination devices and things like that. Magical folk can just tap into the energy and use it. Someone like you can tap into the energy here and not only use it but also control it. We don't know just how it works or what the effects are because it's been so long since there were any Earth Mages, so we don't know what's true and what's myth."

"Except for Voldemort. He can use it."

"Well, he doesn't really count. He craves the power but has never been able to get it to flow. Whereas you, Harry, have a natural affinity for it.

"But what am I supposed to do with it?"

"What the prophecy says -- The Lion will heal the land in the places Darkness has touched."

Harry snorted. "Yeah, right."

"You, my dear godson, really have no idea, do you? Do you want to give it a go?"

"What, now?"

"It's why we've walked all the way out here. You've been in touch with Earth energy already ... this is the same, but more so."

The piece of grass Harry had been holding had been twisted round and round his fingers to the point that it was limp and bruised. He dropped it to the ground and found himself wondering about Snape's potions and how they were supposed to enhance his connection to this strange energy. His life had changed completely over the last month since he'd found out about prophecies, Earth Magic and Dream Weavers. He'd arrived at school for his last year feeling dejected and confused after the summer and what had happened at the Burrow. Harry felt guilty for killing the Death Eater even though he'd done so in order to save Ron's life. It had made him come back a quieter and more introspective person than he'd been the previous year, because he had shocked himself at just how easy it had been to take another life.

Now, he was being told he was yet something else, with powers that could make the difference in the fight against the Dark Lord. He wished he could just run away and pretend he was someone else, but there would always be the scar on his forehead and his green eyes to give him away.

Plus Voldemort and his Death Eaters hunting him down, of course.

He looked at his godfather's expectant face and knew he couldn't let everyone down, even if he wasn't sure he could deliver what they wanted. Harry knew he needed someone he could trust and open up to ... someone who would listen and not come up with the same crap all the time ... _You're the boy who lived, Harry, of course you can do it._ Even Snape expected great things of him now, and suddenly Harry wished for the days when the Potions Master would gleefully tell Harry that he was a wilful child undeserving of his fame.

Finally with a little smile, Harry nodded. "I guess I'm willing to give it a go. Should I use the potion?"

Sirius glowered, clearly not happy with the idea of his godson using something made by the Potions Master. "Snape told me it would make a difference, and Professor Dumbledore wants you to try it. Personally, I think you're doing just fine without it."

"If it makes you feel any better, I made this one, and it was bloody hard work."

"That must be a first ... you admitting to working hard at making potions. I better get you out in the sunshine more. But as you made it, let's see if it does help." Sirius shifted closer and watched as Harry fished into his bag for a little flask. The boy drank the contents, grimacing slightly.

"They always taste so nasty. I think I will devote my life to coming up with potions that taste of Butterbeer."

"And end up like Snape? All greasy-haired and living in the dark?" The two shared a smile at the joke for a moment, waiting for the potion to take effect.

Harry finally nodded as he felt a distinct change in ... well, he wasn't sure. It was as if everything had become just a little vague. "Okay."

"I think maybe you should lie down." At Harry's questioning eyebrow, the older man smiled and ruffled the boy's hair. "Well, I'd rather you lie down now than collapse backward later."

"You think I might faint?"

"No, it's just that the magic is powerful and I don't know what your reaction might be to it, especially with that potion. Besides, I'm here to catch you. Trust me."

"Sure ... as far as I can throw you." Harry took off his glasses and dropped back onto the warm grass. It seemed to cradle him comfortably on the ground, almost soothing, like he was on a favourite blanket. "Okay, I'm ready."

"Good." Sirius reached for one of Harry's hands while his other hand cradled the boy's cheek.

Harry held on tightly, fingers entwining. It felt like his godfather was somehow anchoring him in the real world. "Don't let go."

"I won't." The fingers tightened briefly. "Harry, no one really knows what might happen next."

"That makes me feel better."

"Albus believes you can do this and so do I. I need you to remember our exercises, the ones where you reached out for the energy and let it work through you. This might feel a little different, so don't be surprised." Sirius' voice was quiet and soothing.

Harry soaked up the sound as he closed his eyes and reached his free hand out to touch the ground ... fingers spread, palm downwards ... and waited.

And waited.

"Nothing's happening." Harry opened his eyes, blinking into the sunlight. "I guess I'm just not ready for this yet, sorry."

Sirius didn't answer and Harry sat up with vertigo-inducing speed. The sensation made him feel sick and he screwed his eyes tightly shut, waiting for it to pass. When he finally managed to open them again, he realised his entire world had shifted.

"Sirius?"

All the colour had been washed out of the world, but he quickly realised it was more than that. It was as if everything had been carved out of ice ... frozen in a moment in time. Fairies hung suspended in mid-flight, ripples on the surface of the pool lay motionless, and Sirius sat in petrified stillness.

"Sirius...." Harry reached for the older man.

"Don't touch him, Harry."

He spun at the voice, recognising the tone but fearful of it in this place. The sound sent a shiver down his spine and made the hairs on his neck rise. It took him a moment to get his mouth to form the person's name, but finally he choked it out. "Draco?"

The Boy was sitting on a rock by the pool, trailing his long fingers in the water. Where he touched, the stillness seemed to melt and the colour came back. Draco wasn't ice, Harry quickly realised. He was colour in the washed out landscape, just as Harry realised he, himself, was.

"Sorry, I'm not Draco. I needed a form that wouldn't frighten you, so I picked something dear to you." The Boy took his hand from the water, shaking droplets from his fingertips. The droplets fell away, freezing in time to hang in the air.

"What have you done to Sirius?"

"Nothing, your godfather is fine. It's you that's changed. If you touched him, you'd be drawn back and we need to talk. Do you know what I am? Where you are?"

Harry took a calming breath, his hands twisting together nervously as if he needed the movement to focus his attention. "Well, if you're not Draco and this is somewhere else.... Then I guess the potion worked and I've managed to connect with the Earth energies."

"Clever boy."

"So are you -- um -- some sort of...."

"I'm a manifestation of the Magic in its purest form. I'm not a real person. I don't have a physical form. I just _Am._ You might be part of the other world, Harry, but this is what you truly are ... part of this magic. It's been with you since the day you were born, like the air that you breathe. They thought that making you live with humans would smother your birthright, but even that couldn't kill it completely."

"I don't understand."

The expression on the Boy's face was so like one of Draco's that it was difficult to accept it wasn't him. "I see this is going to be much more difficult than I thought it would be. Come here." He waved Harry over, who crossed hesitantly to the pool, sitting on the rock the long-fingered hand gestured to. "They say you are an Earth Mage, and that is as good a name as any for what you are. It means you are connected to the earth and ethereals in ways that humans and wizards can't begin to understand. You inherited this from your mother."

"But she was Muggle-born," Harry interrupted.

"She wasn't from a Wizarding dynasty, that's for certain. Trace Lily's maternal side back and you will find ethereals and users of Earth Magic. It's why you get to be mentioned in Elvish texts as well. It's part of your heritage."

"Really?"

"Really. Don't you believe me, Harry? Is it this form I've taken? Would you prefer something else?" The Boy's hair started to change to red and the grey of his eyes was swamped with a slash of blue. "I could be Ron...." A frown appeared on the Boy's face. "No, not Ron." The red hair changed to black and his eyes turned back to grey. "Sirius perhaps."

"No...." Harry held up a hand. Somehow having Draco here seemed right. "It was fine as you were."

The black was slowly infused with silver and the grey turned stormy. "As you wish. Lily's kind were persecuted so they joined the humans to hide away. Things don't change much, Harry; there is always a persecutor and the persecuted."

"You mean Voldemort and Muggle-borns?"

"Yes, but Wizarding folk can be very narrow-minded. They don't like change and they don't like things that upset the status quo. So people who are different ... like your mother's people ... are looked on with distrust."

"How do you know about that?"

"I'm omnipresent, Harry. I am the past and the present, and I know lots of things. The trouble is, I might know about things, but that doesn't mean I can do anything about them. They _thought _they knew what you'd inherited from Lily, so after she died, they put you in a place that would subdue your connection to Earth Magic. It wouldn't do to have all and sundry find out you were gifted, would it?"

Harry shook his head. He didn't understand what was happening, but if he was dreaming, then he might as well make the most of it. His mother was part elf? If it weren't so absurd, he would probably be laughing now. "I don't understand. Who are 'they'? You keep talking about them, and how can my mum be an elf?"

The Boy laughed. "I didn't say she was an elf. That really would be silly. Elvish and fairy folk are from a completely different species."

"But...."

"You must learn to listen and not make assumptions. I said you were mentioned in Elvish texts and that Lily could trace her line back to users of Earth Magic. Thousands of years ago, the magical community was divided into two types -- wizards and magicians." Harry snorted. "What's so funny?"

"Well, magicians. Aren't they just Muggle conjurors? You know, doing card tricks and illusions."

"I'm not talking about Muggles. The term isn't used in the magical world now, but it was the name given to someone who used supernatural powers to perform their magic. Believe me, Harry, these people had extraordinary powers and abilities. They were able to control and use Earth Magic without the need for wands or potions, and it was _that_ which caused hatred and mistrust. Their fellow magical folk didn't like the fact that these people could do things they could only dream of, and the persecutions began. That's why they went into hiding and over the centuries, magicians have been hunted down and never spoken of. In fact, they have been written out of history. But they remained despite this and they were your forebears."

"Are they Earth Mages?"

"Oh no, Earth Mages are even rarer. To produce one of those requires just the right mix of wizard and magician, and James and Lily were just that." The Boy stared at the waterfall for a moment and was quiet for so long that Harry began to get nervous. When he finally spoke again, there was sadness in his voice. "Unfortunately, Tom Riddle inherited a connection to Earth Magic and he can control it in ways that ordinary wizards are unable to. But he isn't an Earth Mage quite like you; he wants that power and knows how to obtain it. Should he succeed, he will have the immortality he craves, and he will destroy the magical world as we know it." He sighed. "This isn't a dream, Harry. You _know_ deep down that I'm telling you the truth. You _know_ that there were times in your childhood that things happened for which there was no rational explanation. Being able to Apparate without any training. The days you wished for it to rain and it actually did. Or when your cousin's friends would chase you and you wished they couldn't see you. Didn't they run by as if you were invisible?"

"How do you...." Harry watched as the Boy smirked. "...oh, yeah, you're omnipresent."

"Now you're getting the idea." The smirk faded and, for the first time, the expression on the Boy's face wasn't one Harry had ever seen on Draco. "They ... people who know of your abilities ... are wary of you. They don't know just what you are capable of because the only other Mage they have knowledge of is Tom Riddle. They saw how he twisted his powers and that makes them fearful of you and what you are capable of. But I've been waiting for generations for this moment -- for you to be born and reach an age where you would be able to wield your magic. I need you, Harry, to help stop Riddle. His corruption of Earth Magic is slowly destroying everything. Without you, it will all wither and die. Come with me and I'll show you." The Boy stood and reached out his hand. "Don't be afraid."

Harry hesitated momentarily before taking the offered hand. It felt like flesh as their fingers connected, but they seemed to change shape beneath his own, the hand becoming larger.

Then suddenly he wasn't in the glade anymore but in another place. It was also bleached and ice-like, devoid of colour except, Harry noted, for an area that seemed blackened as though ravaged by fire. He frowned as recognition finally hit home. "This is the Burrow."

"Yes it is."

The voice was different ... deeper. Harry turned abruptly, gasping as he looked at the person now holding his hand. The Boy had changed and become James.

"Dad?" Harry nearly fainted. The reality of the image was overwhelming. It was Harry all grown up ... the hair, the shape of his face, even the build. The only things different were the brown eyes and lack of scar.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. It's difficult to keep an image going."

Harry took a breath, wishing it were Draco again. His dad? The image of a man plucked from the mind of a one-year-old baby. Was this how he'd last seen James ... just before his father had tried to save him from Voldemort? He swallowed, feeling his heart clench, both loving and hating his father at the same time for leaving him even though he'd done it to save his son.

"This is the Burrow," Harry repeated, unable to think of anything else to say.

"Yes it is. This is how it is right now in the real world. Your friends moved out after the attack, so it's empty."

"Why's that area different?" Harry pointed to the darkness that seeped along the ground, spreading like molten lava. It had consumed half the building and he had the impression it was creeping forward, inch by inch, to devour it completely.

"That's Tom Riddle. That's the all-consuming darkness he leaves wherever he touches. It blocks the magic, Harry, stopping it from being free flowing, letting it pool in places where he, alone, can access it. He is turning everything from pure natural energy to something that suits his view of how the world should be. Humans ... Muggles ... do it all the time. They pour their chemicals into rivers and the soil until it slowly eats into the structure of the Earth. I can deal with that, but this is different because the magic I am part of is being used against me. If he keeps doing this, he will despoil everything. Look over there."

The Man pointed towards the west and, for the first time, Harry realised that off in the distance, close to the horizon, there were rolling thunderclouds. "Is there a storm coming?"

"That's one way of putting it. The rumours are true. Riddle's forces are massing in the West Country, and he is creeping closer and closer. Let me show you...."

And suddenly Harry was in the air, floating high above the world. So high he was able to look down and see Britain spread out below him. He gripped at the hand still holding his. "Wow."

"Brilliant, isn't it?"

Harry turned, realising the Man had changed again, and the person now holding his hand was Hermione ... or at least her image. "I thought you hated flying."

"But this isn't flying," the Girl smiled. "Not really. See the patches of darkness below us? That's where Tom Riddle and his people have already destroyed the network that keeps the world working." She waved a hand, and a network of golden lines began to crisscross the landscape. "These are the energy lines ... well, at least the main ones. If I showed you them all, the whole of the country would be golden. It's like a network of intertwining roots feeding the energy so that things can live and grow, and magical folk can perform their spells." She smiled at him. "If people went to live in the Burrow at the moment, they wouldn't be able to use their magic properly, at least until the darkness is removed. They'd be able to _do_ magic, but it would tap into their own intrinsic darkness which every living being has. The darkness that warps things and brings pain and anger and sadness. If it carries on uninterrupted, then the joy and light goes out of people's lives and they become bitter and twisted. They start to believe the things people like Tom Riddle tell them, and they see _his_ way as the chance to get even with everyone they think has ever done a wrong to them. Does that make sense?"

"I guess." Harry looked down at the land below. It was like the pictures he'd seen of the British Isles taken from space and he could see places he knew, including Little Whinging. "Is that Hogwarts?" He pointed to a gold patch in Scotland.

"Yes. It's the power point where you are with Sirius. Can you see there are others over the country?"

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "There's more darkness than I thought." The patches dotted the country. Even London was smudged with it and he wondered if it was anything to do with Knockturn Alley.

"His people are everywhere. If Tom Riddle ever managed to have the connection to Earth Magic that you do, Harry, he would be unstoppable."

"How do you know I won't misuse it?"

"Because it's not in you to do that. Oh, you might play with it and indulge yourself, but you'd never do what he's done. Come on, let's go back."

With that, Harry was back on the ground, near a small stream, when the hand holding his had changed again. He realised he was scared to look, and that feeling didn't change when eventually he did. Green eyes looked back at him, and he realised it was his mother. His knees gave way and he sat down with a thump.

The Woman was much more graceful as she sat down next to him and ran a hand through his hair. "The prophecy is true, Harry, you can heal the land."

"But I don't know how." He leaned into the Woman's caress. It might not be his mother in reality, but she was here with him for this moment and he was close to tears.

"I'll help where I can, but the knowledge is in you and part of you, and you can do this. Will you try for me now?"

"Can't you do it? Didn't you say you were omnipresent?"

"That I am, but I'm not omnipotent. I can't do this on my own." She smiled at him.

"Okay." He looked to where the darkness was like a smudge on the ice-white landscape. "What happened here?"

"They tortured and killed a human."

"Who did it?"

"That doesn't matter. Your role isn't to bring them to justice ... others will do that. You are here for a special reason and that is to deal with what they have left behind. Imagine it like a stream that has become dammed with debris. It blocks the flow and the pool behind becomes silted up. Leave it for long enough and the water becomes stagnant, and all the life in the water will eventually die. But once the dam has been removed, the water will flow again and life in the river will return."

"That makes sense."

"It's simple really. But imagine that the river is the pure natural Earth Magic that keeps the world alive, and each piece of debris is its very antithesis -- a manifestation of the darkest magic. It blocks the Magic, tainting it into stagnant pools that Tom Riddle can feed upon. I can divert the flow, but as the darkness consumes more and more, my options become limited until there is no way left for me to keep the magic untainted. That is what has happened at the Burrow and where his forces gather in the west. Your connection with Earth Magic will let you cleanse the darkness and let the energy flow again."

"It's like unblocking a river?"

She nodded in response to the question. "Yes. Or even like taking down a wall brick by brick.

Harry watched the darkness fluctuate over the area. "Can you...." He took a hitched breath. "Can I see the Magic as well as the darkness?"

"Of course. I'll show you, but you can do that without me."

The world turned gold, and he could sense rather than see the magic. It was rich and pure, but as it reached the block, the gloss disappeared, leaving it to pool in a dirty brown puddle. On the other side of the block, the energy was thin and insipid, only returning to its previous brilliance some distance away. Finally, he looked back up at the Woman and nodded. "Okay. I'll give it a go."

"Thank you, Harry." With that the Woman pressed his hand to the ground. "I will guide you, but you're doing this ... it isn't me. I need you to reach out and feel the energy flowing through the ground. You've done it before and this is no different."

It was easy, Harry found, like it had been outside of Hagrid's cottage. He just let his mind drift until it connected with the energy and, the moment he found it, he was aware of it flowing around and through him, as if he was the hub of a wheel, and the energy the spokes moving out from him. He'd only been able to trace the magic for a short distance in the past, but under the Woman's gentle instruction, he realised he could reach out further and further.

It felt incredible and all-consuming.

It felt like he'd come home.

And then he touched the darkness.

The shock almost made him pass out and he gasped for breath, collapsing against the Woman. Arms wound about him, holding him safe and secure. "It's all right, Harry, I've got you. I've got..." The voice changed and he knew it was the Boy holding him. "You."

Harry clutched at him. "I don't know what to do." His face twisted with pain and his voice was hoarse. "It hurts."

"Shhh, just go with it Harry. Embrace the dark ... don't fear it. Try to understand what you are feeling. It's as much part of you as the light."

He lost track of time, and all Harry knew was that the darkness surrounded him as though he was swimming in it. It was full of all his fears ... every hurt he'd ever suffered ... every pain he'd ever endured ... every time he'd lost his temper ... every person he'd ever hurt. He was struggling, trying to get to the surface, trying to breathe, but each time he opened his mouth, it choked him.

He was drowning and there was no one to pull him out.

"Don't fight it, Harry."

The voice came from a distance, and he realised there was a flash of white in the darkness. It crawled through the shadows until it found him, nipping at his earlobe and Harry saw it was the ferret that had dragged him back to reality after he collapsed in Draco's room. This time the creature wore a collar and from it dangled a perfect crystal star.

As the animal snuggled at his neck, Harry realised he knew ... just knew ... what to do. He stopped struggling and in that moment the pain ceased. It was an acceptance ... an acknowledgement of the part of him he'd denied for seven years. The part of him the Sorting Hat had seen.

"Yes, I understand."

"It isn't just the light here, Harry, no matter what Albus and the others might think. Only in acceptance of your whole self ... the light and the dark ... good and evil..." the Boy chuckled, "Gryffindor and Slytherin. Only by accepting everything can you master your gifts. If you understand that, then you're ready, Harry. And if you're ready, then you will be able to obliterate the darkness."

"I don't know how to do that."

"Of course you do. Remove it -- stick-by-stick. Let each one dissolve in your hands until all that is left is the light."

"Yes."

"Then let the darkness wash away."

Harry didn't know how he did it or how long it took, but he remembered the feel of each stick as he picked it up, how difficult it was to make the first one dissolve and how it didn't seem to get much easier. The last stick proved to be almost as difficult as the first, but when he eventually opened his eyes, the smudge had gone and the icy landscape was pristine once more. He met the grey gaze, and the Boy smiled down at him.

"Well done, Harry, well done." The Boy stroked his cheek, the touch almost a consecration. "Come. Let's go back."

The glade hadn't changed. Sirius was still there, unmoving and, Harry realised for the first time, his own form was there as well, lying on the grass, still clasping hands with his godfather.

"This wasn't real then ... it was a dream. I'm still there." He pointed at himself.

"Both are real ... just two different realities. You're both here and in the other world and that's why you need your Protector. You need someone to watch over you while you work and to keep you safe."

"Morning Star's Child?" Harry asked. The Boy nodded. "But I don't know who that is."

"Don't you? Are you sure?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. Can't you tell me?"

"No. It's important you work that out for yourself because that is how your magic will mature and grow." The Boy reached for Harry's hand and dropped something cool onto his palm. It was the tiny star the white ferret had worn around its neck.

He frowned. "This is...?"

"The Child's Star. You know who to give it to." The Boy cupped Harry's face. "It's time for you to go back. I will be here and I'll help when I can, but you'll know what to do and when to do it. Trust your own instincts, Harry -- they have always served you well in the past -- and remember that people might not understand about your gifts. They will want you to use them for their own ends ... even ask you to do things you might not agree with. Always listen to your heart, Harry, it really is the best counsel you have."

With that he leaned forward and kissed Harry on the forehead.

Harry came to with a start, sitting up so quickly that he thought he might be sick. He was aware of the blood draining from his face and a light-headedness that made his head spin.

"Slow down, Harry." Sirius grabbed at him, easing Harry back down onto the ground again. "Just stay there a minute. You look as pale as a ghost."

Harry did as instructed, mainly because at that moment, he realised that if he tried to sit up again he would make a fool of himself. "How long have I been out for?" It felt like he'd been gone for hours ... days.

"About fifteen minutes." The relief on Sirius' face was obvious. "I was beginning to worry ... actually panic is a better word. I didn't know how to wake you up."

Harry gave an exaggerated sigh. "Now you tell me." He pushed himself up, more slowly this time. "I'm okay."

"Are you sure?" Harry nodded. "What about the magic? Did you connect with it? Feel the way it flows?"

"I think so." Harry shrugged. It all seemed dream-like now, as if it had never happened. The images of his parents and of Hermione and Draco were beginning to fade. If it wasn't for the star-shaped crystal held tightly in his fist, he might think the whole episode had been an illusion. Not wanting to discuss the star with anyone, he furtively pushed it into his pocket. "I can still feel the magic now. It's like I could reach out and follow those ley lines and touch what's on the other end." He flexed his fingers and then reached for his glasses. "Sirius, that thing about healing the land ... I think I can do it. Whatever this gift is, Sirius, it's not about killing ... it's about making things better."

"It's incredibly powerful magic, Harry. That's why Voldemort mustn't be allowed to get access to it."

"I know." He took a deep breath. "I'm scared."

"I'm here for you ... we all are. But let's not worry about it for now." Sirius gave Harry's arm a gentle squeeze and hauled the boy to his feet. "Come on, I think we both deserve a swim."

**_Gryffindor Common Room ... later that evening_**

"All right, Harry?" Ron slumped down onto the sofa and grabbed at the book Harry was reading, checking the cover. "You're not still reading that one?"

Harry shrugged. "Blame Snape, not me. He told me to read another three chapters before my -- detention tomorrow. If I don't...."

"You get another detention?" Harry shrugged again. "The creep's really got it in for you this time. You should talk to McGonagall or Dumbledore. They'd stop this once and for all."

"It'll be over soon. What about you? Good day?"

Ron nodded earnestly. "I finished my defence project and spent the afternoon...." He leaned in and looked around the room furtively, making sure no one was listening. "Shagging Megan Jones."

Harry snorted. "Megan? She's not your usual type."

"Well, needs must." Ron shrugged. "What about you?"

"I wasn't shagging."

"Really? Did you know Seamus has opened a book on you?"

"What for?"

"Who you're shacking up with. He says you've been slipping away all the time just lately so you must be 'trysting with some femme fatale'." Ron's Irish accent was pretty hopeless. He sniggered, waggling a finger at his friend. "My god, Harry, I think he's right. You're blushing."

"I am not!"

"Sure." Ron leaned in closer, his voice a whisper. "You are allowed to have sex, Harry."

Harry finally closed the book. "I know."

"And you know you can tell me ... well, we've been friends for years and years, and ... well ... if you weren't attracted to the Megans and maybe preferred other sorts, then well...."

"Now who's blushing?"

The two boys looked at each other, then away in embarrassment, eyes locking on the same patch of the carpet.

"It wouldn't matter, Harry. It wouldn't change things ... us being friends."

Harry shifted slightly, his head still down but eyes raised enough to be able to see Ron's profile. Where the hell had this line of conversation come from? He sure as hell didn't want to come out to Ron in the middle of Gryffindor common room. "Ron...."

"Look, Harry, something's changed between us and I don't like it." Blue eyes met with green. "It feels like it was in fourth year ... the whole Triwizard thing. I know you've had the prophecy stuff and other things on your mind, but...." Ron ended up shrugging pathetically. "Have I done something to upset you?"

"What? Don't be such an arse!"

"Well, you don't talk to me anymore, at least not like we used to. Is it because I'm Head Boy now?"

"No way." Harry turned, facing his friend. "I'm sorry. You haven't done anything. I've just been...." _Shagging someone you hate..._ How the hell could he be honest with Ron without telling him about Draco? And Ron was right, Harry had been lying to him -- or at least bending the truth, and now that they didn't have the Quidditch team to chat about he couldn't remember the last time they'd just sat and talked to each other. Recently, he'd been turning to Hermione for support where once it would have been both of them. "It's ... I don't know, Ron. It's exams and detentions and prophecies and everything. And I miss flying."

"So do I."

Now it was Harry's turn to look furtively around the room. The common room was almost empty and there was no one near them. "And, okay, you're right. I don't think I like Megans."

Ron frowned as if he'd forgotten his earlier comment. The look changed to realisation and Harry thought he saw something pass over the other boy's face, but it was so quick he wasn't sure if it was delight or horror. "Look, it doesn't matter, Harry. That doesn't change our friendship.... Does it? I mean you don't fancy me do you ... not in _that_ way?"

"What?" Harry knew he must have looked shocked. "Of course not ... not like that. You're my friend, Ron, my first real friend. I don't want to lose that. But ... no, I don't fancy you."

The sigh of relief Ron gave was exaggerated -- almost comic. "That's okay then. It doesn't change anything between us and I don't mind. Though Ginny's going to be upset ... she still fancies you. And mum was looking forward to grandchildren."

"She thought I was going to marry Ginny?" Harry was shocked. He knew Ron's sister had had a crush on him for a couple of years, but he assumed she'd grown out of it by now.

"Well, either her or Hermione."

"I love Ginny ... but she's like my sister. I've never thought of her like that. As for Hermione ... well ... it was going out with her that made me realise that perhaps I didn't like Megans."

"So, is there someone you _do_ fancy?"

"Ron!"

"Sorry, I was just thinking of fleecing Seamus and winning his book." Ron leaned a little closer, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. "Your secret is safe with me. But it could be just a phase ... you know ... and it'll change later. Bill once told me he fancied another boy while he was at school, but look at him now. Married with twins. So don't worry too much about it."

Harry felt a surge of annoyance knot around his heart. How dare Ron suggest that his feelings for Draco might be just some sort of adolescent passing phase. He realised the fingers of one hand were digging into the cover of the book. "Well, I'm okay about it at the moment. As for the future, who knows where we'll be in another year." His tone was much brusquer than he had meant it to be.

"Right."

A difficult silence hung between them. Harry opened the book again and Ron took to making a paper aeroplane out of a sheet of Harry's parchment. He set it sailing across the room where it landed in the fire. He let out a huff and finally broke the silence. "I've been thinking about your prophecy and the Dragon's Tears bit. How did it go? To the People he will return, reborn through Phoenix Fire and Dragon's Tears."

"And?"

"Well, what if the Phoenix Fire bit is to do with You-Know-Who?"

"Isn't it all to do with him?" Harry rubbed absently at his forehead, aware of his scar prickling with the beginnings of a headache. "You said before the Phoenix being reborn was me coming to Hogwarts."

Ron shrugged. "Even I can be wrong. What if this is to do with you ending up in charge after you've defeated him? What if this Phoenix Fire is some sort of magical power, something you're going to use in the struggle?"

"And the Tears?"

"Well, I still don't have that pinned down yet, but it could be the power as well. Maybe it's two things that have to come together to make you some awesome wizard." He took a deep breath. "Harry, have you ever thought of talking to someone else about this? Someone other than Dumbledore? He doesn't know everything. Maybe you could talk to Professor Lupin ... he's travelled and knows lots of things; perhaps he could help you sort this out. Or what about Sirius? Or even Snape? I know he has some sort of grudge against you, but he is on our side."

Harry wasn't listening. His mind had focused on Ron's words and he was now fervently thinking back to what the Boy had said out by the pool. _That's why you need your Protector._ Maybe Ron was right and those two things ... two people ... were needed for Harry to make Earth Magic work. His hand eased into his pocket and he fingered the little star the Boy had given him ... if it _was_ Draco.... "I've talked to Sirius," was all he could think to say.

"And Lupin?"

"Not yet. I'll think about it, though."

"Harry...."

"Hello, you two. Had a good day?" Hermione sat down arm of the sofa next to Harry. The two boys fell silent. "Have I interrupted something? Shall I go?"

"We were...." Ron looked guiltily at Harry. "Does she know?"

"Know what? I am here. Hello?" Hermione said, in mock annoyance.

"She knows that I'm gay." Harry quickly jumped on that part of their conversation. He didn't want Hermione to mention the new part of the prophecy. In fact, he'd rather his two friends didn't discuss that together at all.

Hermione stared down at Harry, a friendly hand on his shoulder. "You've told him?"

"We were discussing it."

"You knew?" Ron looked peeved, as if he was annoyed to have found out after Hermione.

"We ... talked about it a couple of days ago."

"Oh, right. And you're okay with it?"

Hermione looked shocked. "Why wouldn't I be? He's still our Harry ... he hasn't changed."

"I know, but...."

"Ron, it's up to Harry after all."

"Excuse me. I _am_ still here." Harry touched each of his friends, resting a hand briefly on their knees. He thought Ron flinched. "And what I do is up to me, okay?"

"Sure, Harry. If it makes you happy."

Desperate to change the subject, Harry held the potions book Snape had given him. "What does this mean?" He tapped the title _Potions Preparation for the Dilettante._

"You're not still reading this?" She took the book.

"Blame Snape. Though I have to admit it does make things clearer. I should have read it ages ago."

"You do yourself a disservice, Harry. You always understood; it was Snape who made things difficult."

"So, what is it?"

"A dilettante? Well, it's someone who's interested in a subject, but only has a sketchy understanding of it. So that book is Potions for the Interested."

"Or Potions for Dummies." Ron sniggered.

"Or Potions for the Clueless." Hermione joined in, grinning.

"Thanks." Harry came to his feet and took the book back. "Thanks a lot. Now if you don't mind, this dummy still has another chapter to read, so I will bid you both goodnight." He made a theatrical bow and headed for the dormitories.

In his room, Harry tossed the book on the bed. It was still stained with ink from his collision with Remus, and he'd been careful to always 'forget to take it' when going to see Snape. Maybe the Potions Master would forgive him if he did the Marking magic or maybe Harry could find another copy.

He frowned as he noticed something sticking out from the pages. It looked like a piece of parchment, but he knew it hadn't been there earlier, and his usual bookmark was a photograph of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Carefully, he prodded at the book with one finger until the parchment was closer and he pulled it out, holding it tentatively between thumb and forefinger. It was actually a small envelope, and he twisted it back and forth so he could see what was on either side.

One side was blank, but on the other side he recognised Hermione's handwriting -- _He asked me to give_ _you this._ He tapped the envelope against his finger; Hermione must have slipped it into the book. As for the 'he'....

Harry quickly pushed his fingernail under the little seal and flicked the envelope open. Inside was a small cream coloured card on which was written in a familiar script _Follow the dotted line. _ He turned the card over, and on the other side it said _Mouse. _The frown grew, this was stupid -- Draco had obviously sent him some sort of note via Hermione, and Harry didn't understand what the Slytherin meant.

Well, there was one way to find out.

Sitting down on the bed, he opened the drawer of the bedside table and took out a wooden box. Professor Dumbledore had given it to him during his fifth year, telling him it had belonged to Lily. The box was made of a dark wood and had a carving of a stag on the lid. Harry had often wondered if it had been a present from his father to his mother. It had become the home for the few bits and pieces he'd collected over the years ... things that were important to him ... his first train ticket to Hogwarts, one of Hedwig's feathers, a note from Sirius, a little photo of Hermione, Ron and himself, the badge from his first set of Quidditch robes, the letter from Draco asking him to go to Hogsmeade, his diary ... and laid on the top was the very tatty Marauders' Map.

He carefully unfolded it and studied the blank parchment for a moment before reaching for his wand. Then tapping the sheet, he said softly, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." As he finished speaking, the lines representing the castle began to scurry across the surface.

"Okay, Draco, just where are you?" Harry studied the map and the little representations of people. Hermione and Ron were still in the common room. The corridors were virtually empty and, for the first time, he realised how late it was ... it was gone 9 o'clock and most students were back in their respective Houses. He spent some time studying the Slytherin dungeons, going over and over that area of the map looking for Draco, but there was no sign of him. In fact, he'd almost given up when he found the name in an area of the castle he didn't think he'd ever been to, at least not since his first years in the school.

The little East Tower was, as far as he could remember, full of dusty rooms used mainly for storage. It was certainly too small for classrooms, and the only time people seemed to go there was on sunny afternoons when they could laze on the circular roof. Filch was always chasing students down from there.

He cleared the map with a quick "Mischief managed," and pushed it into his pocket before rummaging in his trunk for his Invisibility Cloak. The new note was added to the contents of the box and Harry quickly sealed it again before covering himself with the cloak.

The common room was more crowded now, and he passed through carefully avoiding bumping into anyone. He waited at the portrait hole until someone opened the entrance to the Gryffindor common room and was soon out beyond the portrait of the Fat Lady and into the corridor. It was there he saw it.

About a foot above the floor was a silver dotted line.

The shimmering marks continued into the distance, lighting the way along the corridor, and as he took a few steps, he realised the dots disappeared as he passed them. He found himself smiling more and more as he followed the marks down the corridor, through the school and up into the East Tower. It did occur to him to wonder how Draco had placed the trail of magical bread crumbs for him to follow so that no one else could see it, but he was so enamoured by it that he realised he didn't care.

The dotted line finally ended at a brick wall on the third floor of the tower. Harry stopped and the last little dot changed into a quill. It wrote _Password_ in the air in front of him and he shook his head. "Password? What password, Draco?"

Harry stared at the wall for several minutes before realisation finally struck, and, with a grin, he spoke the word Draco had written on the card. "Mouse." The wall seemed to shimmer, changing slowly into an innocuous little door. Hesitating for a moment, Harry finally pushed it open and, as he entered the room, he could almost feel the doorway hiding itself from prying eyes again.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. He was in a small circular room that was illuminated only by a few candles. A large canopied bed took up most of the floor space and there was a fireplace with a crackling fire, near which was a second door. There were two comfortable-looking armchairs in front of the fire. Draco was sitting in one of them.

The boy smirked across at him, blond hair glinting in the firelight. "Hello, Mouse. I thought Granger might not give you the note and you'd never get here."

Harry glared petulantly at the other boy, but his tone belied any anger at the words. "What am I going to have to do to make you stop calling me that?"

"Tie me up and gag me?" The words were a question, but the look in Draco's eyes showed they were most definitely a statement. Harry's eyes widened in surprise and Draco smiled ... not a smirk, but a genuine smile.

Only too aware that Draco's comment had brought a flush to his face, Harry crossed the room, stopping behind the other chair. "So, what's this room?" There was a catch in his voice as he ran a finger back and forth over the chair back.

"You said it was a shame we didn't have anywhere in the castle to go." Draco spread his arms wide. "So I found this. Apparently this tower used to house guest rooms."

"Right." Harry looked around the cosy room and gestured at the second door. "What's through the door?"

"Bathroom. I got your favourite house-elf to sort it out. He'll do just about anything for Harry Potter."

"All the comforts of home. Do I take it that you've warded it just for the two of us?"

"Oh yes." Draco had come to his feet and Harry recognised the predatory gleam in those grey eyes. He could feel the visceral way Draco was watching him. It made the hairs on the back of his neck rise and a heat spread through his groin.

He took the couple of paces over to the bed and ran a hand up one of the wooden bedposts before turning around to lean back against it. "And you think I'm going to come here so you can shag me on a regular basis?"

Draco prowled across to stand directly in front of Harry, eyes raking over him. "Oh yes."

"Well," Harry looked directly at Draco, meeting the grey gaze with a knowing half-smile. "Squeak, squeak."

**_Monday 23rd March 1998 ... Evening ... The Potions Classroom_**

"It was an accident."

In response, Severus Snape fixed Potter with one of his best withering stares and was pleased to see that the boy had the courtesy to look uncomfortable even if the green eyes still held a bit of defiance. He opened the ink-stained book at a random page, parchment held between thumb and forefinger. The ink had seeped into the pages, running down the long edge in a wavy line.

"We tried to get it out."

"We?" He lifted another page to find the ink had seeped even further onto the page. Potter shuffled his feet a little, some of the defiance gone, replaced by chagrin.

"Professor Lupin and me."

"Which explains the utter mess of the task." The defiance was back again, and Severus worked to keep a grimace of mild exasperation from his own face. He could read the boy like a book. Albus would be far better off teaching Potter to hide his feelings rather than bothering to instruct him in the Dark Arts. "If you'd brought the book back to me straight away, I might have been able to do something." The truth was that the book itself wasn't important -- he had another pristine copy for his personal use -- it was Potters's lack of care that annoyed him. It made him cringe to see students bending the corners of pages or breaking the spines of their books. "What happened?" His tone was suitably menacing.

Potter shifted again. "It was an accident," he repeated. "I didn't do it deliberately and I've read it all."

"Thank Merlin for small mercies. I would give you detention, but as I'm already spending more time with you than I care to consider, I will find some other way for you to make up for the damage." He turned and headed down the hallway to the door that led to his own private workrooms. Brewing Earth Magic potions in an open classroom was not something he wished to be caught doing. He might have the Headmaster's implicit approval, but if the Ministry found out, Severus knew he could lose his job. "Don't dawdle, Mr Potter. I don't have all night and we need to go over your reaction to the potion you used yesterday."

"I've made a decision."

The boy's voice cracked a little and Severus was reminded not for the first time that Harry Potter was still, in effect, a child. Some might consider him the Saviour of the Wizarding world, but he still wasn't old enough to vote for Members of the Council, and he wouldn't even come of age for another four months. Yet they all expected him to fight and, ultimately, kill Voldemort.

He turned back and studied the boy, for that was what he was ... a boy still small enough to have to look up to meet Severus' eyes. This was the boy Albus was pinning so much on. The boy who'd been lied to for years and who was still being kept in the dark. How was it James had once described Death Eaters? _Like_ _mushrooms ... kept in the dark and fed shit._ For all he admired Albus, Severus knew the old man had his own agenda, and Dumbledore's army wasn't kept any better informed than the Dark Lord's.

And Sirius Black certainly didn't help matters either, as far as Potter was concerned. He needed to realise that however talented the boy might be, his godson had flaws and that he might explode at any moment if pushed too far. Severus had seen the look in Potters's eyes too many times over the years ... a look he'd only ever seen in one other person ... in the red/blue eyes of Lord Voldemort. It was a volatile anger, which could be triggered by the slightest thing, and it showed just a hint of the untapped potential in each of them, waiting to be released for good or evil.

How could this child beat Voldemort even with his newfound powers?

What would they do, Severus remembered asking when he had met with Dumbledore and Black the previous day, if Potter failed and Voldemort got what he wanted? Wouldn't it be better to take the obvious precautions and stop Voldemort's plans in its tracks?

Black had scoffed; telling him that his godson wouldn't fail ... it was as simple as that.

Albus had just remained calm, sounding as though he were a parent talking to an irritating child, as he told Severus that if Voldemort wasn't stopped now then the consequences didn't bear thinking about ... it was as simple as that.

Severus considered briefly telling Potter what Voldemort was planning, but he had given his word to Albus to hide the truth for just a little bit longer. But what if the Boy Who Lived failed and Voldemort got the power he craved? Who would be left to save them all then?

"Come with me." Without looking at Potter, he spun on his heel and headed to his private quarters where they had talked regularly over the past week, discussing potions preparation and Earth Magic. Neither spoke until inside with the door closed. "A decision about what?" Severus finally asked.

Potter straightened a little and Severus was sure the boy suddenly became inches taller. "I'll do what you want."

The steady gaze he kept on Potter belied the intense, almost sickening, feeling that surged through him. The Mark on his arm itched and he wondered if the Dark Lord was going to punish him yet again. It had been getting worse over the last week, as if Voldemort knew what his ex-servant was doing. He wasn't sure how much longer he could deal with the pain without others knowing ... without it rendering him next to useless. The potion he'd brewed with Potter had helped ease the pain, but to stop it completely ... he suddenly felt very needy, an emotion he hadn't experienced in many years. He quickly stamped on the feelings. "What do I want?"

The boy's sturdy finger pointed towards Severus' arm. "The Marking thing. I'll do it, but on one condition."

Severus gave a snort. "You wish to set conditions now?"

Potter held the older man's gaze, his chin rising slightly in a gesture Severus had so often seen in James ... a look of confidence he'd long ago termed 'Gryffindor smugness'. The boy shoved his hands in the back pockets of his jeans, his body language oozing defiance. "Only one."

"What do you want?" Severus folded his arms, hands hidden in the sleeves of his robes. "The key to my Gringotts account? No detentions for the rest of your time at Hogwarts?" He gave a hard smile. "A pass mark for your N.E.W.Ts in Potions?" Potter didn't reply immediately, but took his hands out of his pockets and folded his arms, mirroring Severus' stance. The Potions Master raised an eyebrow; how he would like to cuff the brat.

When Potter did speak, it was in a quiet commanding voice. "I want you to show me how I can stop someone else being Marked. Someone who Voldemort hasn't touched yet. I want to know what I can do to protect them."

"Who are you thinking of?"

"That doesn't matter. I just need to know what to do."

Severus waved Potter towards the sofa. "Sit down." There was no argument and the boy did as he was told, sitting in the same corner he always used when they talked. "Potter, this isn't something to be taken lightly."

"You want me to do it to you."

"That's different." He stood over Potter, wanting to be deliberately intimidating as if to remind the boy of what he was offering to do and what the consequences would be. They had both skirted around the idea of Marking during their conversations, but it had always been Potter who somehow managed to change the topic to something else. "I've already been Marked and you are carrying out what some might consider a rescue mission. Do you intend going around Marking people in an ad hoc manner? Doing it to anyone as and when the fancy takes you?"

"No! I told you, I'm not like him!"

"Then who are you intending to Mark?" He sat down abruptly on the sofa and stared hard at Potter, watching as the boy took a mental step back from him. "Granger perhaps? Though I think the chances of the Dark Lord wanting to Mark her are very remote. She is, after all, what he would call a Mudblood." Potter scowled, but didn't respond. "Or Weasley? He's a pure-blood who I'm sure the Dark Lord would love to have in his ranks, but do you think he would go willingly to Voldemort's side?"

"No, it's neither of them."

"Then who? This isn't a game, Mr Potter. If you put your Mark on someone, they will become your responsibility for the rest of your life." He watched as Potter's jaw dropped a little. "What's wrong? Hadn't you considered the consequences?"

"No ... I mean ... yes ... but Voldemort isn't responsible for the Death Eaters."

"Isn't he? We belong to him. Have you ever wondered what happens when someone becomes a Death Eater?"

"No. I just...." Potter shook his head. "You pledge yourself to him and take his Mark."

"If you can call it that." Severus didn't like to remember his own initiation. There had been a time he was proud of what had happened, but once he'd realised what Voldemort expected of him, it made him feel sick. "The initiate pledges himself to his new master. Then he must provide blood for the Marking."

"Your own?"

"No." Severus pinned his gaze straight ahead. "A fresh kill. The Dark Lord was particularly fond of Muggle blood." He heard Potter gasp softly. "In killing that person in front of witnesses, you are bound to the group. If you try to leave, details of your crime will become public knowledge. If the witnesses try to leave, they will be made complicit in the deaths they have seen."

"You killed someone?"

"Does it surprise you?"

"I...."

"And Voldemort uses the blood to bind the initiate to him and to the group. That bond is how he calls his followers to him and how he punishes or rewards."

"I don't want you to kill someone." The distress in Potter's voice was palpable.

"That was the Dark Lord's method, no doubt formulated over many years. The bond doesn't have to be forged in blood, other catalysts can be used, but the link will still be there. It is your choice as the creator of the spell what you use."

"And you still want me to do this? Even with this link thing?"

"Mr Potter, the Dark Mark is only one form this sort of link can take. The same magic is used by other groups but with no intention for it to cause fear and pain. It is used by secret societies or fellowships as a form of deeper understanding. These societies use potions or some form of personal commitment. The Marking you would use on me would be that type and I'm willing to accept the consequences, but what about this other person? Will you accept the responsibility that their Marking places on you? It will give you power over that person, because even if you don't want to exert control or exact revenge now, there might always be a time in the future."

"I'm **_not_** Voldemort. I won't be like him."

"I wonder if the Dark Lord ever thought like that." He watched as Potter tried to reply, but clearly he either didn't know what to say or wasn't sure if this was the right time to say it. "Imagine that you Mark someone ... me or your friend Weasley or even Draco Malfoy...." The boy's head shot up, surprise clear in the green eyes, and Severus got the final confirmation he needed that Potter and Draco were involved. "Then that one upsets you. You will have to control your temper and not use the Mark to punish."

"But you just said it isn't the same as Voldemort."

"I said his form is just one of the ways it is used."

Potter was staring at the floor, shoulders slightly hunched, and once again he looked like a little boy. The Golden Boy, thought Severus, was just a child who was desperate for someone to look after him ... in need of a father figure who would tell him the truth. Severus knew he wasn't that person, but he was suddenly loathe to make yet another demand of the boy in front of him.

"You may leave if you wish, Mr Potter, with no recriminations." His voice was uncharacteristically soft.

"What about the potions? I need to keep making them."

"Yes, for a while. Black told me they helped."

"I mean the ones for you."

Severus nodded. "They ... help." He watched as the boy wrung his hands in his lap. "As you wish, Mr Potter."

Potter studied his hands and when he finally spoke it was a whisper. "It's Draco."

"I know." He matched the boy's tone and Potter's face shot up, meeting his before quickly looking away again. "We can discuss that later."

"And I'll do the Marking. If it helps."

"It would be.... Yes. It would more than help. Thank you." A sensation of something close to relief washed through him, and he closed his eyes briefly as he pushed it away. He needed to remain focused for the moment because, while he trusted Potter to keep his word, there was always a chance something might happen to stop the boy before he could help either Severus or Draco. "There is a dark of the moon on Saturday. It would be a good time."

Potter nodded and glanced sideways at the Potions Master. "I killed someone ... last summer at the Burrow. He was a Death Eater and," his voice hitched. "I used the Killing curse on him."

Severus met the green for a moment and finally rested a hand briefly on Potter's shoulder before coming to his feet. When he finally spoke, his voice was almost gentle. "I know." The boy met the steady gaze and then nodded. When Severus spoke again, his voice was still gentle. "We have a lot of work to do, Mr Potter, so we'd best get started."

**_Saturday 28th March 1998 ... Harry and Draco's secret room ... The East Tower_**

Standing in the shower, hands braced against the tiles, Harry let the hot water pound onto his head. The sharp jets beat against his skull, working away the tension and dissipating some of the pain that was pounding in time with his heartbeat. He tilted his head back, trying to get some of the water to take the pressure from his scar. It was cutting into him as though it were a knife, the zigzag feeling like a white light in his brain. He could put up with the water splashing on his face ... his eyes ... his mouth ... if it would help take away some of the pain.

The dreams had been getting worse over the last two weeks, particularly since he'd gone with Sirius to the pool in the glade and taken that trip to god-only-knew-where. It was as if something had opened the floodgates to his remembering the dreams, and while they weren't always clear, he knew when he'd had something prophetic because his head would feel like it had been crushed in a vice.

They were usually similar and normally involved someone being Marked. Sometimes it was himself, other times Draco. He'd even had one in which both Hermione and Ron were given Voldemort's brand. Last night it was Draco again. Harry didn't know whose hand had branded Draco, but he remembered both Dumbledore and Sirius were watching and afterwards the snake part of the brand had slithered over Draco's body.

He'd woken to the sound of Draco's screams and it had taken him a moment to realise they weren't real but part of the dream. Draco had been asleep beside him; totally oblivious to the fact his lover was currently suffering a nightmare. For about five minutes Harry had lain there, trying to decide whether to waken Draco or not, but in the end, he'd crept out of bed and had been in the shower ever since, hoping that the water would take away the pain as it had in the past.

It helped a little, but the images from the dream still pulsed in his mind.

"Harry."

He shut off the water and turned. Draco was standing beside the shower. Harry tried to smile. "Hello."

"Another headache?"

Harry nodded.

"Come on." Draco picked up a large fluffy towel and wrapped it around Harry, who was now shivering a little. He began rubbing at the towel, drying the body beneath with deft efficiency. It amused Harry that Draco knew when to dry him properly and when to make it part of his wonderful repertoire of foreplay.

"Thanks." The towel was rubbed gently over Harry's head, and he closed his eyes as Draco pushed his hair off his forehead. "I should get back before I'm missed."

Draco's finger brushed over Harry's scar. "Your public can wait for a little bit longer. It's only just light and it's Saturday so they won't be up for ages yet." He took the other boy's hand and pulled him back to the bed.

"I've got lots to do today." That was true. Today was the day he was supposed to do the Marking ritual on Snape. At the moment he didn't feel he could do so much as a _Lumos_ spell, let alone serious Earth Magic.

"Sure." Draco pulled Harry onto the bed, wrapping his arms around the smaller boy.

"I'm still wet."

"I don't care. I like you wet."

**_The Room of Requirement...._**

Harry hadn't been to the Room of Requirement for a while now. He didn't like to remember his last time there, because it had hurt so much afterwards and, if he were honest, it still did. As he stood in the middle of the room that had been created for his current 'requirement', he could still picture what had happened. He'd arrived back at school after the summer desperate to remember his own 'home' ... the place he had lived with his parents for just 457 days. So he'd come to the corridor with the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and his ballet-dancing trolls, walking back and forth past the blank stretch of wall three times. He'd concentrated so hard on wanting to see his home, that when he'd opened the highly polished door that had appeared in the wall and stepped over the threshold, he'd expected lots of things, but what he hadn't expected was to step through the door and find himself in the hallway at No 4 Privet Drive.

His home? No 4 Privet Drive?

He'd stood there for a long time without moving, staring down that oh-so-familiar hallway, and wondered why the Room should think that this was what he meant by 'home'. He would have been happy with almost anywhere ... Hermione's house, where he had spent his seventeenth birthday ... the Burrow, which he'd visited several times ... Hagrid's Hut ... Hogwarts ... but not this place. This wasn't 'home'; it was a 'place'. It was somewhere he'd lived for ten years and then occasionally gone home to during the summer.

_Gone home to during the summer._

That thought had made Harry pause. He did call it _home_ even if he hated the place with a passion. He didn't want it to be _home_ ... nothing about Privet Drive or the Dursleys deserved to be thought of in the same breath as that word. Yet, he assumed whatever magic the Room used to create its interior must have looked into his mind and seen something from which it had conjured this.

Perhaps it was to do with the family magic Dumbledore had used to protect Harry. Whatever the source, this hadn't been what he'd wanted. He'd wanted his mum and dad and the place they'd been living in with him.

Harry had left, feeling disconsolate, but that night he'd dreamed of his mother. She had been reading to him and in the dream he'd known what the book was. But when he'd woken up, that part of the dream had disappeared and wouldn't come back no matter how hard he concentrated.

And he was back here, in the Room again now, but this time for a completely different reason.

The Room had been transformed to an outside clearing. There was grass beneath his feet and a soft sunset-streaked sky above. The air had that just-after-the-rain smell and somewhere from the treetops, he could hear a nightingale. There was even a crackling campfire.

It was, he decided, perfect. He could taste the magic in the air and feel it tingling through his skin.

Putting his bag down close to the fire, Harry sank to the ground and stared for a moment at the flames. He'd spent more time over the last week with Snape than he cared to consider, discussing the magic needed for the Marking, and now it was time to actually put what he'd learned into practice. It would be a lie to say he wasn't scared, but he was certain that he was doing the right thing, because always at the back of his mind was the fact that if he could help Snape, he might just be able to help Draco as well.

Draco knew nothing about what was going to happen to his Head of House. Harry had only confided in one person and that was Hermione, who had helped him with the arcane language of the spells. She understood what Harry was doing, but he couldn't decide whether she approved or not.

Well, for better or for worse, he'd made his decision. Now all he had to do was wait for Snape.

The sky had turned dark and was covered with stars before the door to the Room opened again. Harry looked up from the book he'd been reading by the light from his little round light sphere and knew it was Snape from the man's silhouette. Snape stood there for a moment and then walked in, closing the door again and cutting them both off from the real world of Hogwarts beyond the illusion of the Room.

The professor crossed silently on the grass, stopping by the fire as Harry came to his feet. He cast a look around the room and raised a sardonic eyebrow. "We could have gone outside if you'd wished for this sort of setting."

Harry shrugged, suppressing a smile. "It's blowing a gale and hasn't stopped raining since yesterday lunchtime. Plus, this is within the Hogwarts wards."

Snape nodded in what Harry hoped was approval. "Are you ready?"

"I think so." He gestured at the book on the ground. "The spell was difficult, but I think I've got it now." He tilted his head to one side, his expression thoughtful. "Are _you_ ready?"

"You don't have to do this. You can walk away now."

"So can you, so maybe we should start before I lose my nerve."

This time when Snape nodded, Harry knew it was in approval. But it was more than that; there was a trust he never thought would exist between himself and the Potions Master. He wondered briefly what their relationship might have been like if the animosity hadn't been there from the beginning. This seemed to be the final instalment of a seven-year story. They might never actually be friends, but they seemed to have reached some sort of understanding. He just hoped that after it was done, Snape wouldn't hate him even more because of the hold the magic would have on them both.

Was it a coincidence, Harry wondered, that the two people whom he'd fought with for so many years had suddenly started to take important places in his life? He sat down and began taking bits and pieces from his bag -- a vial of potion, several quills, an inkbottle, his wand and a small shallow dish. With the bag empty, he set it aside and looked back up at the professor, surprised to see him taking off the dark robes he was wearing.

Snape folded them carefully before sitting down with a grace Harry hadn't thought possible. He was even more surprised to find the older man was now wearing a cream coloured sleeveless tunic which hung like silk. The Dark Mark was visible in the light from the little sphere, and Harry knew that it must have been used recently as the skin around it was reddened ... almost like the flesh had been burned.

They had discussed what might happen if Harry didn't succeed. Voldemort would know what had taken place and that someone who was an Earth Mage had tried to take Snape away from him. He wouldn't know it was Harry, at least not to start with, but Snape would be punished and from that, Voldemort would find out through his link to the Potions Master what had happened. Harry had asked whether the link could kill Snape. "If I'm lucky," Snape had replied.

_So no pressure, _Harry had told himself, _no pressure at all._

"Have you decided on your Mark?" Snape's voice was quiet.

Harry glanced quickly at the complex skull and snake on Snape's forearm before giving a brief nod. He had thought about lots of things, but knew he could never damage Draco's skin with something like Voldemort's Mark. In the end he had decided on the one sign that everybody seemed to associate with him. "I thought I'd use this." His fingers touched the zigzag scar on his forehead. "It's simple and, well, it would just look like a scar on your arm." He picked up one of the quills, fiddled nervously with it. "What do you think?"

"It is not for me to think. It is your Mark. But you are right --at first glance it won't be as obvious as this." He glanced briefly at his arm before turning his attention back to Harry again. "You haven't brought a knife."

"No."

"Then it is good that I remembered to bring one with me." He reached for his robes, rummaging in the folds for the pocket.

"We don't need one." Harry picked up the quill. "You said we didn't need to use blood, so I've been reading the book you gave me on protection magic and have found something else to use." He briefly touched the book he'd been reading while waiting for the professor. It was the same book that had been on the table beside Snape's chair in his quarters the first time Harry had visited.

"Really." The tone wasn't so much a question as a jaded statement of fact. "Why am I not surprised? Very well, what have you come up with?"

"You're supposed to give something of yourself into the ritual. Voldemort used blood from the Muggle you killed, right?" Snape nodded. "Can you draw?"

The Potions Master pursed his lips into a thin line. "Would it spoil your plans if I couldn't? I still have my knife."

"Well, it doesn't matter, you can just use stick figures ... it doesn't have to be very good, it's the intent that's important. What I need you to do is draw the animal I remind you of and tell me why." When Snape didn't respond, Harry started to worry. It had seemed such a good idea when he'd found it in the book -- instead of blood, both parties gave something of themselves, something personal. It had mentioned using an animal form and Harry had liked that ... maybe it was magic similar to that used by Animagi, however Snape's reaction wasn't helping his confidence. "It's in the book." Harry reached for the volume, but the older man stopped him from lifting it.

"I know. It's ... a very powerful incarnation. And also very personal. Using blood would be easier."

"No. I _don't_ want to use blood. This is _my_ version and I want it to be different from Voldemort's."

"Very well, Mr Potter. As you wish."

Severus sat back and watched as the boy poured some of the ink into the little bowl and added several drops of the potion mixture. The two liquids swirled together as he listened to Potter quietly incanting the words of the spell. He could feel the energy building in the space between them, surprised at how powerful it was ... at how powerful Potter was. No wonder the Dark Lord had wanted to kill the boy.

"Can I have your right arm?"

He looked at the boy's outstretched hand and realised Potter was going to draw on his arm. The incantation would work equally well with the drawing on parchment, which was then burned. He considered questioning Potter's reasons, but the ritual had already started. Instead, he moved closer, extending his arm and resting it comfortably on his own knee.

Potter held the arm steady with his left hand, and dipped the quill in the mixture of ink and potion. "I once thought of you as a bat, because of the way you seemed to swoop down on everyone. Then I wondered if you were a rat." Severus started at the admission. In a different time and place, he would have given the boy a detention for saying such things. "But you are a Slytherin ... there's no doubting that, so you must be a snake."

The ink flowed over Severus' skin in long smooth lines, the tail of the snake wrapping around his arm, and the creature's head on the back of his hand. Potter didn't look at him as he drew, instead concentrating on the task.

"Not any ordinary snake though ... but a King Cobra ... _Ophiophagus_ ... that means 'Snake Eater'. They prey entirely on other snakes, Professor, and it's the largest venomous snake in the world. If a cobra gets startled by an intruder, it rears its head and spreads out its hood so it can intimidate the intruder. If that doesn't work, then it strikes quickly and fatally. And you've chosen to go up against the biggest snake in the world." Green eyes finally looked up, meeting Severus' gaze, before returning to the finished snake on Snape's arm.

Severus flexed his hand, watching as the snake's hood expanded with the movement. Then, throwing the quill into the fire, Potter spoke again, this time the words not in English. Severus recognised it immediately as Parseltongue, and the snake's tongue flicked out in response.

Eyes widening, Severus stared at the creature on his skin. It seemed alive ... was alive ... on the movement of his arm, but the response to Potter's words shocked him. It was all he could do not to get up and flee the room at the thought he might just be swapping one master for another.

"Are you ready?" Potter had bared his own right arm now and held a new quill out to him.

Severus took it carefully, staring at it for a moment as he tried to work out what to do next. It would be so easy to draw a lion or even a phoenix. He even considered a snake. All of those images were ones he'd heard people describe Potter, but none of them really suited the boy. And now, with the power surrounding them, they all seemed out of character.

He was reminded of James yet again and the Animagus stag the Gryffindor could turn into, but even as he considered that, he realised once again that under Potter's power and energy was a child who, over the years, did nothing but cause him trouble. As for drawing, yes, he was quite adept with a pen after years of illustrating his own potions texts, but an animal was a completely different matter. Not to mention having to articulate something like this in words ... admitting personal things to the boy who'd been the bane of his life. Almost tentatively, he reached for Potter's arm, mirroring the way Potter had held him, and dipped the quill into the mixture.

"When I was a child, we had a puppy. It was very badly behaved and constantly getting into trouble. Unfortunately, everyone thought it was adorable even when it was disobedient -- I always thought it was an annoying scallywag. The creature wasn't permitted in the bedrooms, for example, but it would always manage to find its way into one anyway or it would steal shoes. I would often get into trouble because it was assumed I let it into rooms. It would manage to get out of trouble every single time it did something wrong."

"You think I'm a cute puppy?" There was amusement in Potter's voice.

"They thought the animal was charming. I wanted to kick it and make it behave." Severus continued with the creature, which looked like it was running up Potter's arm. The puppy tongue was lolling out and it looked like it was smiling. "When it was older, it became...." He paused. The dog had become his constant companion in later years, and he had taken it when he had left home to join the Dark Lord. Voldemort had wanted it, and Severus could not have denied his master anything at that time.

"What happened to it?"

"It ... died, as all things do." The Dark Lord had killed it because the dog had never liked him. One day, when he had punished Severus, the dog had struck back and Voldemort turned his wrath upon it. "I have finished." He threw the quill into the fire as Potter had done and watched the boy wiggle his fingers. The drawing came to life. "The puppy's name was Zephyrus."

Potter ran a finger over the drawing. "What does that mean?"

"Zephyrus was the West Wind in Greek mythology. 'We two can fly as swiftly as Zephyrus who they say is fleetest of all winds; nevertheless it is your doom to fall by the hand of a man and of god'. So said Xanthus to Achilles in _The Iliad."_

The boy looked surprised. "You've read Muggle literature?"

"Of course. You know what _The Iliad _is?"

"Of course, it's a book." Potter grinned. "Thank you."

Severus stared at Potter. "For what?"

"For telling me about your dog." Potter picked up a new quill. "And for not kicking him ... or me."

"Contrary to any misconceptions you might have, I don't kick students." Severus ran his fingers over the snake. He could almost feel it coiling around his arm, as though something in Potter's magic had made the creature alive. Did the puppy feel alive as well, he wondered. "Do you want to continue?"

Potter nodded and there was just a little uncertainty in the movement. "Do you?"

"Yes." Severus realised that Potter's hand was shaking as he tried to unscrew the little vial of potion again. He shifted closer, not meaning to touch the boy, but their knees brushed and Potter looked up, the child rather than the Mage staring at him. "You know you are capable of doing this. I can sense your magic now. It's all around us." He reached out and took the vial from the boy's hand, removing the stopper easily. "It is still raw and unrefined and you need to be trained to use it properly, but you have the ability to learn how to control it if you persevere. And you can do this now."

"Once I touch your Mark, he'll know I'm here."

"Then shield yourself to start with."

"Okay." Potter took the vial back and dipped the new quill inside.

Severus watched as Harry's eyes closed. He felt something wrap around him and knew instinctively that Harry had warded them both. It felt like he was inside a bubble. The boy didn't open his eyes as he reached for Severus' left arm, and they remained closed as the quill flicked over his skin, leaving in its wake a silver lightning bolt over Voldemort's Mark.

The eyes flashed open ... brilliant green as though he'd been struck by Avada Kedavra ... as Harry dropped the quill and clamped his hand over the Mark. If the boy used an incantation, Severus didn't hear it; instead all he was aware of was the feeling of the lightning bolt sinking into his flesh and spreading through his skin. He hissed in pain as it moved beneath the Mark, as though trying to cut through the tendrils that bound him to the Dark Lord for the past twenty years.

If the pain of Voldemort's punishments were bad, then the pain as the lightning bolt ate away at the Dark Lord's Mark was intolerable. He wondered if he cried out ... if he did he didn't remember. His whole universe was condensed down to the Mark on his arm and an inner struggle for control between two people much more powerful than he.

It hurt in ways he couldn't describe.

He was aware of falling backwards ... and falling ... and falling....

"Professor. Professor Snape!"

It was like being woken up suddenly from a very deep sleep. As if he were in water trying to swim to the surface, with the air in his lungs rapidly running out. He could feel hands on his shoulders, shaking him, fingers tapping at his cheek, trying to rouse him.

"Please, Professor, come on, wake up. Please."

He grabbed at the hand as if it was an anchor to reality, something to lead him back from the depths, and allowed himself to be pulled back to the present.

"Are you okay? Did it work? No, don't sit up yet."

He didn't try to move. Instead he lay where he was trying to slow his fast-beating heart and to stop hyperventilating. He could feel the weight of a hand on his chest, the warmth soothing, taking away the pain.

"Professor...."

Finally, he looked at the person leaning over him and realised it was Harry, and that it was the boy's hand on his chest. As soon as they made eye contact, the hand was pulled away. "Potter?"

"Yes. Are you okay? You passed out. Should I get help?"

Severus carefully pushed himself up, first resting on his elbows and then finally sitting up again. "No, that won't be necessary. I am ... quite well."

It felt ... different ... strange ... and it took him a moment to realise what it was that was different. For over half his life, the tenuous link with Voldemort had been part of him. Even when the Dark Lord had been in limbo after he'd tried to kill Harry, the link had still been there in his subconscious. It had been how he'd known Voldemort was still alive.

Now it was gone. He could no longer feel it gnawing away at him, ever present until it was as much a part of him as his heart or his brain or the very air he breathed. He wanted it gone, but he felt curiously bereft by the absence. It felt like a part of him had been taken away. He found himself searching for it within himself, almost panicking because it was gone, replaced by....

He looked at the expectant, worried, tired face before him and realised that there _was_ a little spark he didn't recognise as being part of himself. It had to be from the new Mark that Harry had given him, and he finally looked down at his left arm. Voldemort's Mark was still there, but it looked like a shadow on his skin. He had been interested in archaeology as a child and remembered reading about robbed out trenches and parch marks in the soil -- marks where there had once been a wall and only the ghost of it remained. It was as if the skull with the snake coming from its mouth was just a memory, almost imperceptible in the half-light of the fire. But slashed over it, like an old scar, was the lightning bolt Harry had drawn earlier.

"I think it might fade a bit, or maybe I used too much of the potion when I drew it." Harry's finger prodded at the Mark, then, as if suddenly realising what he was doing, he pulled away. "Sorry. Do you think it worked?"

Severus took a breath ... the first free breath he could remember taking in a very long time. It felt exceptionally good. He nodded. "Yes, Harry, I think it worked." He did his best to smile, but it had been a long time since he'd done that as well. "Fifty points to Gryffindor, Mr Potter."

**_Somewhere in Cornwall..._**

Lord Voldemort stared thoughtfully at the map spread out on the table before him. It showed Wizarding Britain overlaying the areas of Muggle Britain that interested him, the three-dimensional images complete with buildings and even the locations of prominent wizards and witches. He could tap his wand on an area and it would levitate and grow, showing more detail, and with a whispered word he could view different aspects ... locations of known Dumbledore sympathizers, for instance.

There were still too many of them -- idiots willing to fight beside the old man. But he was dealing with them ... one by one. As for those who didn't bend to his will, well, they would go the way of all traitors -- he would give them the most exquisite deaths.

He tapped a long bony finger on the map, watching it shift and change to a new view, this time of Muggle Britain. It disgusted him to see how much they spread ... like vermin ... destroying the land and leeching it of its magic. Soon he would put a stop to that as well ... locking them out of the magical world once and for all. And he would see that Dumbledore's little army were locked out as well.

For good.

Red snake-like eyes looked down at his hand. He detested what Dumbledore had made him become. The old fool might not have been directly responsible for the body he had been reborn into, but it was Dumbledore who had let him fall into the trap when Harry Potter had sent him into limbo, Dumbledore who had taken away the Philosopher's Stone, Dumbledore who had prevented his return via the Chamber of Secrets.

Dumbledore ... and Potter.

No matter. Soon, very soon, he would have all the power he needed and the illusion he lived in most of the time would finally be real. A real, solid, beautiful, immortal body that would never age and always be desired and desirable.

He paused as something touched at his mind, connecting with his own magic so briefly he wondered at first if he had mistaken the sensation. But no, it _was_ there. Something tapping into his Earth Magic ... something....

The map changed again, all the Muggle references disappearing to be replaced with ley lines and Earth power points. He traced them, trying to find out where the person who dared to play with his power came from. He hissed as the location finally came into view. Of course, Hogwarts. Where else could it be? And who else but Dumbledore?

His teeth clenched as the sensation flitted though him again. No, not Dumbledore -- he _knew_ the old fool couldn't tap into Earth Magic like this -- it had to be someone else. Voldemort flexed a hand over the map, trying to connect with the person.

A wash of green colour, like a ghost image, solidified over the map condensing briefly into a flickering bolt of lightning before dissipating from view. Voldemort's fingers flexed and he let out a hiss of anger. Not the Potter brat! How could that happen? His Shadow and his Cloud were supposed to have drawn all the boy's magic from him and left him next to useless. Wasn't that how Potter had been when he had seen the boy in his room at Hogwarts? They would pay for their failure, he would see to that.

But even worse, how could Potter have managed to tap into Earth Magic and who was there to teach him what to do and how to use it?

No matter. Once his own plans for Draco Malfoy were complete, the Potter boy would be nothing but an insect to be swatted. But he would give Potter something to keep him occupied ... something to make the little Gryffindor worry and fret over.

Voldemort allowed the map to change, once again showing those who supported Dumbledore. One of them would pay the price for Potter's foray into Earth Magic. And what better way to destroy the boy's confidence than to make him believe he was responsible for the deaths?

Red eyes glinting, Voldemort's finger circled over the map. "So, which pitiful fool will it be today?"

**_Gryffindor Common Room..._**

"Come on, sleepy head, you should be in bed, not sleeping down here."

Harry groaned, shifting slightly on the big sofa in front of the fire. "Not asleep," he mumbled in a clearly drowsy voice as he rubbed absently at his eye. "I'm thinking." He pulled his feet up, making room for Hermione to join him on the sofa, and reached for his glasses.

"At three in the morning down here in the common room? What's wrong with your own bed?"

"Well, what are you doing down here?" He gave a lopsided grin. "At three in the morning?"

She smiled, leaning against Harry's bent knees. "I left my magazine down here and there was a very interesting article I wanted to finish."

"Magazine? Which one is it? _Transfiguration Today_ or _Enchanting Charms?"_ He moved slightly, letting Hermione rest more comfortably against his legs. "Or perhaps you've been secretly reading _Predicting the_ _Unpredictable." _He grinned, waggling his eyebrows at her.

Hermione playfully punched his arm. "Not likely. Leave that rubbish to Parvati and Lavender." She took a deep breath. "Harry, what happened earlier? Did it work?" When he didn't answer, she continued. "With Snape?"

"Shhhhh." He looked quickly around the room.

"Oh, there's no one else here. I've already checked."

Harry gripped his bent knees with his hands. "It was ... okay I guess."

"Only 'okay'? Did it work or didn't it? What animal did Snape draw? What did he think of the snake?"

"He thinks I'm an annoying puppy." Harry pulled up his sleeve. The puppy was beginning to fade now, but the drawing was still visible.

Hermione stared at it, clearly having to bite back a laugh. "Harry ... that's Spot the Dog!"

Harry stared at it for a moment. "It isn't!"

"Yes it is! He hasn't drawn the spots, but you must know what Spot looks like."

"Of course I do. Dudley had the books."

"I've still got my copy of _Where's Spot?_ It was a Christmas present from my godmother back in 1980." She rubbed her thumb briefly over the drawing. "You have to admit it does look like Spot."

Harry sighed. "I refuse to think Snape thinks I'm Spot."

"I think it's cute."

"You would. I'm supposed to be a brave lion."

She smiled and ruffled his hair. "Poor Harry. So misunderstood. But anyway -- did it work? The ritual?"

"Snape seems to think it did," he responded with a shrug. "I guess we won't know without asking Voldemort to punish Snape and see if anything happens."

"But Professor Snape must _know._ He must feel that something is different."

"Hermione, contrary to what you might believe, we haven't suddenly become best mates, sharing everything. He didn't really tell me anything; he just said he thought it had worked and gave me fifty points."

"Fifty?" Her eyes opened wide in amazement.

"Not real points, Hermione. He was probably being a bit patronizing." Harry huffed a little. "I bet he hates me even more now, especially if he thinks I've finally got some sort of hold over him."

"You know, Snape can be okay. If he were really being patronizing, he would have just said five points. And if he didn't think it had worked, he would have said so. You must have felt something. Choirs of angels? Hordes of demons? Great rumbles of thunder?"

"Nope, not a thing and that's the problem, Hermione. One minute Snape was sitting up and then he collapsed." Harry rubbed absently at his right arm and let out a groan of annoyance. "Sirius, Snape and Dumbledore have been on and on about how powerful this magic is. Even you've gone on about it. So why, if I'm doing something that is supposed to be that intense, didn't I feel a thing?

"Hmmm. Perhaps that's the way it works. You know, the giver doesn't feel what he's doing, but the receiver does. If Snape collapsed, that has to mean something."

"I don't really want to think about it. Not yet anyway. Can we talk about something else?"

"Well, there is something I've been considering asking you since you first told me about this...."

"What?"

She began picking at the hem of Harry's jeans leg. "Harry, what about if you were to Mark me?"

"No!" The single word was spat out.

"But...."

"Don't even ask, Hermione." He tried to pull away from her but was effectively trapped against the sofa. "I'm not going to start doing this to everyone."

"I know, but...."

"He's not going to Mark you, is he? You're Muggle-born so you're safe from that. The only reason I did it for Snape was because of what Voldemort was doing to him." Green eyes flashed dangerously. "I am not going to round up my own little Death Eater army. I've been sitting here for ages thinking about what I did to Snape and whether it worked, and if I should have done it or not. You know, the longer I sit here, the more I think about using my Mark on him in some way just to see if I really did create a link with him."

"Harry...."

"And the longer I sit here the angrier I'm getting at him for even asking me, and that makes me want to hurt him." He watched Hermione's shocked expression for a moment. "Oh, not a lot, just enough to let him know that I'm here and I know what he's made me do. I hate myself for feeling like this, and I don't want to feel like that with my friends." And especially not with Draco, Harry admitted to himself. His head dropped to his raised knees.

Over the last week, he'd talked to Snape about Draco and whether it was possible to keep him away from Voldemort. Snape had even given Harry some rituals and potions that would be suitable ... incredible protection magic that had awed Harry with its beauty and power. As the discussions had continued, it had never occurred to Harry that he shouldn't take any means possible to protect Draco. After all, who wouldn't want to be kept out of the Dark Lord's clutches? It hadn't even really concerned him when Snape had told him how important it was for Draco not to know what was happening....

_"You may tell Draco about the protection rituals, but you must keep the fact you are Marking him a secret. If your Mark is first, then anything the Dark Lord does to Draco should be ineffective, unless the boy asks to be Marked as I asked you. But if Voldemort realises what you have done, he will find a way to circumvent your efforts. The only way to prevent this happening is for Draco to be unaware that you are Marking him."_

So, Harry had planned to persuade Draco to let him do some protection magic during which he would Mark him in the same way he'd Marked Snape. Then, once it was clear Harry's magic had thwarted Voldemort's attempts, he would tell Draco, who would be happy that Harry had protected him, and all would be fine with the world.

But now that he'd performed the magic on Snape, Harry was becoming more and more concerned about the whole plan. His black-and-white ideals had suddenly changed. Once all that mattered was saving Draco no matter the cost, but now things seemed different. Even if Draco didn't want to join Voldemort, did Harry have the right to make an arbitrary decision without discussing it with Draco first and getting his permission?

He was torn between a desperate need to protect Draco and the awful possibility that whatever happened, Draco would end up hating him again.

Harry didn't think he could stand that ... to lose the person who'd so quickly become such an important part of his life, and that was what he'd been sitting here contemplating. He was desperate to keep Draco safe not only from Voldemort but also Lucius; but did he care enough for Draco to let him go? To do the protection magic with the knowledge that although Draco might escape Voldemort, he would end up detesting Harry for what he'd done?

Could he let Draco go to Voldemort if that's what he really wanted to do? Of course Draco had said he didn't want to be part of Voldemort's army, but was that the truth or was he just saying what Harry wanted to hear?

And it didn't help that at the very moment he contemplate the idea that he might end up losing Draco, Harry was also coming to the realisation that he might actually be in love with him.

He felt a hand in his hair ... not the way Draco would play with it, but the gentle stroking he was used to from Hermione. She continued with the gentle caress for several minutes before finally breaking the silence that had settled between them.

"Look, I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to upset you. I just thought...." The movement stilled. "Well, I had this idea that if there was some sort of link between you, Ron and me, we'd all know that the others were safe."

Harry finally looked up at her. "And I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shout." He leaned into her touch. "It's been a hell of a day and I'm worried about this magic as it is. Snape already hates me, so it doesn't matter if he hates me a bit more, but what if I did this to you and you ended up hating me? I couldn't bear that." He reached out and took her hand.

"Oh, Harry, you know I could never hate you."

"Never is a very long time, Hermione."

"Yes, I guess it is." She smiled. "So, let's change the subject, shall we? Have you sorted out what you're going to do for Malfoy's birthday? I know that's causing you as much grief as the magic."

Harry finally managed a smile. "I have no idea. He's not mentioned it. What if he doesn't want anything?"

Hermione gave a snort. "This is Malfoy we're talking about. He would see it as his right to be made a fuss of."

"But I've never had a party, except for the one at your house last year, and as for presents, what can I give him he's not already got?"

"Oh, Harry, sometimes you're so silly. What would you like if it was your birthday?"

"Um."

"Look, it's a Hogsmeade Weekend, so you can both disappear without anyone really noticing. I'll cover for you with the Gryffindors. The weather is supposed to be good, so take him on a picnic ... you know Dobby will sort food out for you, and I bet he knows what Malfoy's favourites are. He was their house-elf for long enough."

"But what if it rains?"

"Harry Potter, sometimes you are just so dense." She waggled a finger at him. "Then you have the picnic indoors, at Hagrid's cottage, for example."

"He could have already arranged to go with the Slytherins."

"And you think he won't change his plans? If it was nearly my birthday and you invited me to a party, I'd change _my_ plans."

Harry looked at her, his expression one of feigned surprise. "Hermione, I can't believe you are egging me on like this. I thought you hated him."

"Oh, I do, but you don't and I'd rather have a happy Harry than a miserable one."

They both fell silent, Hermione still leaning against Harry as they watched the glowing embers of the fire. He was very lucky, Harry decided, to have Hermione as his friend; she put up with so much, yet was always there whenever he needed her. She even supported his relationship with Draco despite the fact he knew she still hated the Slytherin.

"Hermione," he reached out, touching a lock of her hair. "I've been wondering if he's Morning Star's Child."

"Well." The single word was spoken on a long breath.

"What?"

"I came across something. I was looking at the meaning of names and how their use affects spells as part of my Charms project ... and I happened to check out a few names."

"And?" There was no response. "Hermione!"

"Morning Star is one of the meanings for Lucius. Others are Bringer of Light and Daybreak." She gave a shrug. "So it could very well be Draco Malfoy."

"Fuck me, thank god." The words were whispered as Harry heaved a sigh of relief. He looked at Hermione. "I thought it was going to be Snape."

"Before you get too excited, remember, I might be completely off here. It might have nothing to do with names. I mean Ron's name means advisor to the king. An advisor is a counsellor, but you wouldn't assume that the Lion's Counsellor who will turn to the Serpent is Ron, would you?"

"No, of course not. But it makes sense, doesn't it, that the Morning Star's Child is Draco ... what with all the mentions of dragons in the prophecy as well."

"True, but maybe you should hold off a bit before telling him about this. You need to be sure."

"I know. What does 'Hermione' mean? Maybe it's you."

"My name's boring. It means 'of the earth' and 'messenger', so I don't think I'm your protector."

"Well, I'd be happy if you were."

"Rather than Malfoy?"

"As well as Malfoy." He reached forward and hugged her. "Thanks."

Hermione hugged him back, her hand gently rubbing his shoulder. "As always, I come up with the answers." She sighed as she pulled back and reached down to pick up a magazine, which had been pushed halfway under the sofa by passing feet.

_"Cosmopolitan?_ You're reading a Muggle women's magazine?"

"I like to keep up on what's happening in the other world and, Harry, you might not have noticed, but I _am,_ in fact, a woman."

"Um, I know ... I ... that's not what I meant." He felt himself redden with awkwardness. "Of course you are."

She peered at him. "You know, maybe you should read some of the articles in here."

"What?!" Harry's disbelief was almost palpable. "No way. That's for girls. What am I going to find to read in there?"

"Well, there's an article in this issue you might find useful." She was grinning wickedly at the look of dismay on Harry's face as she tossed the magazine onto his lap. "I doubt Malfoy has different likes in that department than, say, Seamus."

Harry's mouth dropped open in horror at the headline on the cover ... _Your guy's body ... four secret pleasure trails every man has._ "What?" The word came out as a squeak.

She patted his knee in an almost maternal manner, clearly enjoying his embarrassment. "Why don't you give it a read?"

**_Monday 30th March 1998 ... _**

Closing the classroom door behind him, Ron was immediately aware of magical wards closing around both himself and the room's other occupant. He moved quickly to the desk. "I got your message."

Shadow stared at him for a moment, arms crossed as he leaned back against the desk. "Well, what have you found out?"

Shifting from foot to foot, Ron finally met Shadow's face. His lip twitched in a small smile as he basked in the man's power for a moment. "Nothing. Harry won't talk to me. I know he confides in Hermione, but she's tight-lipped about anything he tells her."

"You don't know what he's been doing in his detentions with Snape or his lessons with Black?"

"No, but he's stopped complaining about the detentions and he's even been reading potions books." Ron looked up, blue eyes glinting. "Black's taking him away over Easter ... Harry's all excited about it."

"Really?"

"And he's...." The blue eyes darkened and he clenched his fists reflexively. "He's spending time with Malfoy. They've got somewhere in the East Tower they meet up. I've tried to follow Harry, but I keep losing him."

"Draco Malfoy's part in this isn't of any concern to you. David knows and he has plans."

"But...."

"We all have to play our parts, Cloud, and yours is to watch Potter." Shadow pushed himself from the desk and moved round to stand behind it. He opened one of the drawers, and pulled out a small box, which he held out to the boy. "David has a new spell he wants you to use on Potter. Open it."

Inside the box were seven gold rings, each engraved with a Gryffindor lion with ruby red eyes. He picked one from the box and studied the words engraved on the band, _Chaser_ on the outside and _Gryffindor Quidditch Team -- 1997-1998_ on the inside. Eye widening, he searched through the box until he found the one with the word _Keeper_ on it, his smile broadening as he saw it also said _Captain_. "Wow, they're like the professional team rings ... the ones they give out at the end of the season." Ron started to slip it onto his ring finger.

"No! Don't." Shadow snatched it away. "You will receive these next Monday via owl post at breakfast. Then you can put it on."

"Sorry. I just wanted to see if it would fit."

"They will fit perfectly, shrinking and growing as necessary. The other captains will receive a set as well, with a message from David Morrello saying they are a gift for the team. There will also be a story in the _Daily Prophet_ about a scholarship programme he is initiating with the professional teams."

Ron's face had dropped. "Everyone gets one?"

"Of course. How odd would it look if only Gryffindor received them?"

"Oh, okay. So what has this to do with Harry?"

"Once Potter has his ring, you will place a shadowing charm on it. That way we will know where he goes."

"But I can't make him wear it all the time. Harry's not the sort of person to wear a ring."

Shadow held out his hand for the box, which Ron reluctantly returned. "All the rings have been imbued with a charm that will make the wearer want to keep them on." Ron frowned. "Except yours, of course. The shadowing charm needs to be cast once Potter is wearing it."

Ron nodded, accepting a piece of parchment from his mentor. He studied the complicated charm written on it. "Can I keep this?"

"No, you will learn it now and then destroy the parchment. David is pleased with your progress, Cloud. As a reward he is going to take you to your first Order meeting." Ron's eyes lit up. "I'm arranging for you to take a field trip yourself over Easter."

**_Tuesday 31st March 1998 ... Lunchtime ... The Great Hall_**

"So are you still planning to get away for Easter?" Remus ripped his bread roll in two and dipped part of it into his soup.

"Yes," Sirius nodded, stirring at his own bowl. "I'm going to take Harry off to Glastonbury for a few days."

"Very nice ... if the weather holds up." He grinned. "Remember when we went there that summer for the festival?"

"Oh yeah." Sirius' expression took on a wistful look. "How can I forget. 1979. James' last gig as a free man. The Marauders, 12,000 Muggles, Genesis, Peter Gabriel, Tom Robinson, Steve Hillage and the UK Subs." He let out a long sigh. "It was some stag weekend."

Remus' expression mirrored his friend's. "It really was good. I hope you're not thinking of taking Harry to something like that."

"Who, me?" Sirius placed a hand over his heart and feigned injury. "Remus, I am hurt that you would think I'd do something as irresponsible as that. Remember, I am now a very serious Auror and a responsible Hogwarts professor. Would I take my impressionable teenage godson to something like that?" He sniggered and Remus grinned back. "Well, okay, I might, but I'm not sure I could cope with it anymore. All that mud and sleeping in tents ... even if it was a wizard tent."

"So what are you planning?"

Sirius shrugged. "Just a trip. I thought he'd like to see what Muggles think of as magic and things like that. Have you got plans? Or has Dumbledore co-opted you to look after the kids staying here?"

"Oh, I don't know. I need to get down to Diagon Alley to collect some bits for next term. Want some company at Glastonbury?"

Sirius fiddled with his spoon for a moment. "Remus, normally I'd love for you to be there, but I need some alone time with Harry. He still hasn't talked about what happened at the Burrow, and I think he might finally open up with just me there." He frowned. "You don't mind do you?"

Remus sighed. "That boy is carrying far too much responsibility on his young shoulders. And no, I don't mind. It'll be good for you both. We can take him to a festival later. Maybe Ron and Hermione as well ... they'd both like it."

Sirius nodded, staring thoughtfully down the Hall to where Harry was having his lunch. "Remus, there's something that maybe you should know. Harry's...."

"Sirius." Both men looked up at the new voice. It belonged to Minerva McGonagall. "The Headmaster wanted me to remind you about the meeting you have with him."

Albus Dumbledore was flying very close to the wire and he knew it. The plans he'd been working on for so long were slowly coming to fruition, but he knew that there were still too many variables to expect things to flow as seamlessly as he had hoped.

He didn't like the fact that he was playing into Tom Riddle's hands either, having to be reactive rather than proactive. He hated having to hold back the truth from so many people, but if there was one slip, it could end with Voldemort getting the power and immortality he craved.

It didn't help that Riddle was sweet-talking all and sundry. He seemed to have learned from his failure sixteen years before and in the guise of David Morrello, people now considered him to be something of a Wizarding saviour. What would people think when they found out who he really was?

You-Know-Who. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The Dark Lord made flesh once again.

Albus looked up as the door to his office opened and nodded at Minerva and Sirius, gesturing them towards seats. "Thank you for playing along with Minerva, Sirius -- I needed you to get here as quickly as possible but without arousing too much attention. I have received some very distressing news. Davey Gudgeon and his wife were both killed by Death Eaters last Sunday."

"Gudgeon?" Sirius frowned. "Wasn't he at school with me?"

"Yes he was, and he's been a dear friend of mine over the years. It looks like that was why he was targeted. The Death Eaters left the Morsmordre over their house. We know that they have killed people recently, but this is the first time they have made sure everyone knew who was responsible."

"People will be scared when they know You-Know-Who is active again." Minerva was shaking her head, tutting silently to herself.

Sirius snarled. "Well, it's about time they admitted he was back. Fudge is the worst. If he'd listened three years ago, we wouldn't be in this situation now."

"Voldemort left a note with the bodies," Albus quickly interrupted, not wanting the discussion to become sidetracked. "Fortunately for us, Kingsley Shacklebolt found it so it isn't common knowledge. But if what's in the note gets out, Harry might well be blamed for these deaths." He held out the note to Sirius.

"What?" Sirius was on his feet, taking the note and quickly reading it. "This says that Harry's responsible ... that his wand cast the Morsmordre. That isn't possible."

"Of course it isn't. No wand was found at the location, so there is no proof as to who cast the spell." Albus shook his head. "But that isn't the problem. It is public opinion, Sirius. The deaths will be plastered all over the _Daily Prophet _tomorrow, and if the contents of the note were published as well, we all know that people would read and believe it to be true. Then in several weeks time when the truth comes out ... that Harry wasn't involved ... they have already made up their mind. We should be grateful Kingsley got to the note first and has managed to keep it from the official record."

"But Harry...."

Albus pointed at the note. "This must be kept from him. Only the four of us must know Voldemort is trying to implicate Harry ... Minerva, Kingsley, Sirius and me. That is the way it must stay."

**_Wednesday 1st April 1998 ... Professor Snape's private workrooms ... _**

"I think this is ready." Harry dipped the spoon into the small cauldron and let some of the liquid dribble from it back into the bowl. "It's changing colour."

"Then get it off the heat before it starts to separate like last time." Severus stared over the boy's shoulder as Harry pulled the cauldron away from the flame, cursing as he burned his finger. "Now cool the cauldron down. Quickly, Potter!"

Harry scrambled for his wand, nearly dropping it in his rush. "Um. The spell. I can't remember."

"Think, boy. I taught it to you in your first year."

"Right. It's ... _Tepesco confessus._ No!! I mean _confestim ... Tepesco confestim."_ Green eyes stared into the cauldron, the look willing the potion to work. Slowly the colour changed as a large bubble floated to the surface. It popped with a lazy raspberry sound and the surface became infused with what looked to be an oily mess. Harry finally looked over his shoulder, his expression sheepish. "I wasn't quick enough."

Severus had been standing directly behind the boy, and he was surprised at how Harry shied away from him. If he concentrated on Harry, he could sense as well as see the tiredness that was clearly visible on the boy's face. There were dark smudges under Harry's eyes and the scar on his forehead was a vivid rose pink, standing out starkly against his pale skin. "You need to concentrate and be aware of the exact moment the colour change begins. That is when you need to cool it down."

Harry pushed at his glasses, rubbing at his eye with a finger. "I know." There was none of Harry's normal annoyance in his response, just a sense of dejection. "I don't think I'm ever going to get this. The potion I made for you was much easier. Can't I use that?"

"No." Severus reached for his own wand and tapped it against the cauldron. The mess inside seemed to quiver like a jelly as it shrank to a hard lump the size of his hand, which he removed, adding to the other failed attempts for safe disposal. "If you want to carry out the protection magic you have chosen, then you need to master this." Harry opened his mouth to speak. "And no, I cannot make it for you. The caster has to produce the potion." He raised a sardonic eyebrow. "Unless you would prefer _I_ carry out the ritual on Mr Malfoy."

"No, I can do this." He moved back along to bench and started sorting through the ingredients again. "I'm running out of time to get it right."

Severus didn't move for a moment, just watching as Harry concentrated on the task. It was very late -- nearly midnight -- and he should send the boy back to his dormitory, but there was something in Harry's face that let him carry on. He stepped to Harry's side. "Slice the Mandrake finer. It will give you more time to cool the mixture."

Harry nodded, cutting at the strands. He let out a sudden yelp of pain as the sharp knife cut into the fleshy pad at the base of his thumb. "Damn it!" He dropped the knife, the hand instantly moving to his mouth.

Severus grabbed at Harry's hand. "No. Not with Mandrake residue on your skin." He pulled the boy over to a sink and held the hand under the running water. "That is enough for today."

"But...."

"Enough, Harry. You can continue tomorrow."

"But I'm running out of time," he repeated.

"Wash your hands with this." Severus handed Harry a cleaning lotion. "Then come to my rooms. I'll prepare a dressing for the cut."

He was rummaging through his medical supplies when Harry slipped into the room. There was a bloodied cloth around the injured hand.

"It won't stop bleeding."

"That is because of the mixture the Mandrake has been steeped in. Sit down."

Harry perched on the edge of the sofa and held out the hand. Several drops of blood splattered on his jeans before the salve-coated dressing was placed over the cut. "What if I didn't do the protection magic and just did the Marking?"

"That is up to you, of course." Severus applied pressure to the dressing, mentally counting at a measured speed. When it had been in place for a minute, he carefully pulled it off. The bleeding had stopped. "The protection magic you have chosen will shield Mr Malfoy from most spells and incantations for several weeks, maybe even longer. It will not hinder the use of any charms already in place. You are including the Marking in your ritual to prevent the Dark Lord from placing his own Mark. The additional protection will prevent him from trying to circumvent your Mark, unless, of course, Mr Malfoy asks Voldemort specifically to Mark him, as I asked you."

"Okay." Harry peered at the cut. "Did it work?" He looked up, meeting the Potions Master's black gaze. "What I did to you?"

Severus continued with his ministrations, replacing the used dressing with a fresh one and then bandaging it in place. "Keep this on until the morning." Coming to his feet, he turned away and crossed the room to his desk. How, he wondered, could he ever express to this boy just how well it had worked without sounding like a bumbling fool? He now woke in the morning without the pressure-induced headaches that had plagued his life for longer than he cared to remember. He was even beginning to relax a little, no longer tense as he waited for Voldemort's next punishment. Mercifully, the Dark Lord was no longer there, lingering like an unpleasant memory just in the back of his consciousness. That sensation had been replaced by something else -- a lightness, like a clear winter morning rather than the dark cloying morass that had been Voldemort.

He didn't look at the boy, not wanting to see the eyes that reminded him of Lily or the face that was James'. "Yes, it worked. It has made a huge difference and I am still coming to terms with the result." He took a deep breath. "Harry, I know we have not seen eye-to-eye, but I have always tried to do what I thought was best for you. You are a natural wizard, but like your father you need to be pushed in order to get the best out of you. I owed your father a wizard's debt for saving my life, and I chose to watch over you while you were at school. Now you have done this for me ... taken away the link with the Dark Lord ... and I know that I am now in your debt. I think I owe it to you to tell you about my relationship with your parents and with Black and Lupin...."

Severus turned as he spoke, his mind reeling as memories from his childhood came forward. He waited for Harry to speak, but there was no reply and when he finally looked at the boy he let out a sigh that was a cross between relief and irritation. Harry was curled up in the corner of the sofa and was clearly asleep. He wondered how much the boy had heard and whether he would ever find another time to talk to Harry about his parents.

Watching the boy, he debated whether to wake him. Harry had told him earlier about the nightmares he had been suffering and it was clear that he was overtired. If he let Harry sleep for a while now, would it do any harm? And maybe if he had another nightmare while someone who knew what to look for was there to see, then the cause of them might become clearer.

Reaching for a throw, he pulled it over the boy. Then, returning to his desk, Severus began marking the third-year Potions homework.

**_Friday 3rd April 1998 ... Breakfast_**

"Going to Hogsmeade tomorrow?" Vince Crabbe loaded his cereal bowl to overflowing, more interested in talking to Greg Goyle than in the amount he'd tipped in. He lifted his bowl briefly from the tabletop, and with an apologetic look at Draco, pushed the spilled flakes away. By the time he looked back at Greg, the mishap had been forgotten. "I need to get to Zonko's -- I promised my cousin some Exploding Chicks. His mum won't get him any -- says the feathers take too long to clear away." The two boys sniggered and began plotting out their day.

Draco watched, shaking his head slightly. Greg might be older than him by a few months, but both Greg and Vince had never really acted their age. In fact, sometimes they were both more like fourth-years or even younger. The conversation they were currently having, about getting the first-year Hufflepuffs trapped in one of the dungeons, was the sort of trick he would have played years ago. He gave a little smirk. Well, maybe not years ago, but at least his tricks had a bit more maturity and style.

He glanced over to where Ron Weasley was having an animated conversation with Harry and found his smirk turning to a thin-lipped pout of jealousy. He hadn't managed to find any time to be with Harry since the previous Tuesday, so seeing the Weasel all over his Harry now just added insult to injury.

Maybe he could do something to get even. He leaned in towards Vince. "Can I give you a shopping list?"

Vince leaned slightly, not looking round, but answering his friend clandestinely. "Anything in particular?"

"I was thinking of some of Zonko's special sweets. The ones with side effects."

"Any particular ones?" Vince was following Draco's line of sight. "Something for Potter?"

"No, I was thinking of a gift for the Head Boy. Something with slugs maybe."

Vince sneered. "You know, you could do something with his badge. Make it so it says something else to everyone but him."

"Nice one -- but for now, let's just make him uncomfortable."

"Anything for Potter?"

"No, I'll sort him out. Oh, and don't forget my party on Monday night."

Greg leaned around. "Not much chance of that. Just hope Snape keeps away, especially with the firewhisky and all."

"If he comes by it will be early on, then after that the kids can be sent to bed and we can enjoy ourselves."

Draco glanced back at the Gryffindor table, briefly catching Harry's attention. Green eyes glared at him, the look of old animosity now carrying a sexual undercurrent that Draco hoped only he could read. He smirked back and could tell from the tilt of Harry's head that the meaning passing between the two of them was perfectly clear. His sneer grew as Weasley leaned in and questioned Harry before snarling across the room at Draco.

Let him snarl, Draco thought, it's my bed Harry will be in later.

That thought made Draco pause. Did the Weasel fancy Harry? They'd been dorm mates for nearly seven years, and Draco knew that Harry had holidayed at the Weasley hovel on more than one occasion. He looked back at the two boys, feeling the pangs of jealousy rise again. It could have all been different if it hadn't been for Weasley ... he and Harry could have been friends from the beginning.

Draco returned to his breakfast with probably more vengeance than he meant and had just finished ripping a slice of toast to pieces when two owls landed on the table in front of him. The first was a Malfoy family owl with a message from his mother telling him that his robes for the birthday party had arrived -- pale blue, almost grey, with stitching in silver. The colour had looked okay when he'd chosen it from Romano's Robes in Hogsmeade, but he knew that if it were a shade too pale it would make his complexion looked pallid. However, if it was just as he had chosen he would look like an angel and the cut of the robes should give him wings.

A smirk twitched at his lips at the thought of the Evil Slytherin Child looking like an angel ... now that would be a photograph for the _Daily Prophet's_ society pages. That his party would make the pages, he had no doubt. He was, after all, a Malfoy and this was his coming of age.

The second bird looked like a school owl or a post owl, and he plucked off the message, expecting it to be a bill or some general correspondence. It was a small roll of parchment, sealed with a red blob of wax, which popped open as he slid a fingernail under it. It unrolled easily and he stared down at it, turning it back and forth in surprise.

It was empty. He raised an eyebrow and glanced surreptitiously along the table. It could be from his father, but normally there would be some indication before he opened it, and the parchment wasn't Lucius' normal quality either. In fact, it looked like the sort of paper Flourish and Blotts sold to students. He dropped it onto the table; he'd check it with some disillusion magic later and see if there was a hidden message.

_Morning, Draco._

Looking up with a start, Draco's eyes flicked across the room. The voice had been so clear ... it was Harry's and it sounded like the Gryffindor was standing right beside him. Harry, however, was still at the Gryffindor table, sipping from his teacup. Draco pushed at the scroll with his finger.

_It's okay; no one else can hear me. This is just for you. How do you like it? It's a rather nifty bit of magic I think. Of course, I bet you know all about it already._

Draco picked up the scroll and shoved it in his pocket. It wasn't a spell he knew, but he intended to find out just how it worked ... it would be great to be able to send messages back and forth. Clandestine messages across a crowded room. He pushed his chair back and came to his feet. If Harry was sending him some sort of secret message, he didn't want to listen to it in the middle of the Great Hall.

_Oh no, you get to listen to this here. If you try to leave, the voice will change and it will sound like Goyle ... and guess what, Draco, everyone will get to hear it. See, I can be cunning too._

'Yes, Harry, you certainly can! How did you ever end up in Gryffindor?' The thought swirled round Draco's mind as he sat back down, picked up his spoon and fixed his eyes on his bowl of cereal.

_Good boy. Actually, I hope you think this is a nice message. You see, I want to invite you to a picnic tomorrow for your birthday. Unless you have other plans, of course -- I know it's a Hogsmeade weekend, and I guess you might already have arranged things with your friends. But, if you want to come, just say the same password we use for our room at midday tomorrow and the instructions will appear on the parchment._

He gave a little smile and looked stealthily across to where Harry was watching him. Carefully he gave a single nod, which he watched Harry mirror.

_I've got a few things planned for you, Draco, so I hope you're going to come. Oh yes, that's one of the things ... making you come, I know you'll like that. Would you like to know what I've got planned, or shall I keep that a secret? Well, you know, this really is too good an opportunity to miss, isn't it? You in the Great Hall, and me talking dirty to you. I love it when you do that to me ... tell me what you want to do ... so I hope you like it as well. Of course, you could leave and everyone will hear Goyle telling you what he wants to do to you. So I guess you will just have to stay and hope no one notices you getting hard._

The green eyes were watching him ... Draco could feel them even though he was deliberately not looking in that direction.

_First, I'm just going to touch you ... you know, the way you like it ... soft fingertips over your shirt and trousers. Eventually, that will make your nipples hard if I keep it up long enough. If you want, you can wear that red shirt ... the one I made down in the Archive ... you know how much you like silk being rubbed on your nipples. Then when I know I've got your attention, I'll undo all those little buttons ... one at a time, while you get all impatient because it's taking so long. When I've finally finished doing that, I'm going to lick and suck at all the nice places on your chest ... that little hollow at the base of your throat, I know you like that, then your nipples until they are hard and wet and sticking up from your pale skin like little buds. Oh and when you start to groan and hold onto my hair, I'm going to suck at your navel._

Draco could feel a heat building inside him. What the hell was Harry playing at? He was going to make the Gryffindor pay for this. He let a hand drop almost casually down into his lap, aware of his growing hardness. Let this end now, he thought, before I make a real fool of myself.

_By now you'll be getting hard...._

'Too right,' Draco moaned mentally.

_And I will be able to see the bulge your cock is making in your trousers. So I'll get that button on your waistband open and the zip down, and then I'll slip it out from your underwear. Hmmm, I wonder what you'll be wearing. Nice loose boxers or those dark soft cotton briefs which will already have a little wet patch on the front. Maybe I should send you a pair with little Gryffindor Lions all over them._

_Of course, by now I will have my hand around you and you'll be hard and erect as I do things that make you whimper._

He could feel his erection pushing against his underwear, tenting his trousers almost painfully. Harry had done exactly the same thing to him only a few days ago. Pulling himself closer to the table in an effort to hide what he was doing, Draco let his hand cup himself, pressing hard against the bulge in his trousers.

_And then, Draco, when you finally beg me to, I'll use my mouth...._

"Draco, are you okay?" Greg stared at him, a frown on his forehead. "You look all flushed."

"I'm fine," Draco snapped, as he reached for his teacup with his free hand, trying to hold the cup without his hand shaking. "Too much pepper on my eggs."

_Mmmmm, do you fancy that, Draco? Would you like me to do that to you?_

He was staring at Harry now, and knew the wicked grin on Harry's face wasn't aimed at anyone at the Gryffindor table. Harry must be a Slytherin, Draco decided. No Gryffindor would have the audacity to make him suffer like this. He could feel the way his erection was pushing against his hand and knew that if he didn't leave soon he'd probably come right there, in the middle of the Great Hall.

_Well, Draco, we'll see what happens tomorrow, won't we? This is the end of my little invitation, so you can go if you want._

Draco got quickly to his feet, pulling his robes about him to hide himself, and started towards the door.

_Oh, there's one more thing...._

He stopped at the door, but chose not too look back.

_A question, Draco. When I've got you hard for me, how would you like me to make you come?_

Carefully, Draco reached for the edge of the door, fingers clutching at the wood as he took a calming breath. Then he looked back over his shoulder. Harry was watching him with his meek, innocent little boy expression under those smouldering green eyes. He met the gaze with a look he knew would devour Harry on the spot. The look said one thing ... Draco would make Harry beg and beg for release and when he allowed him, Harry would come so hard he wouldn't know what had hit him.

Saturday was exactly as Harry had hoped -- a glorious spring day, just warm enough in the sheltered glade for a picnic. He had considered going to the pool, but somehow it didn't feel right to go there at the moment. Sirius said Harry would know when a person needed to go there, and to use it for nothing but a picnic seemed out of place now.

He spread out the blanket Dobby had found for him. The house-elf had listened carefully to Harry's request for a picnic basket, and the large wicker hamper contained enough for a long, lazy afternoon in the early April sunshine. All that was missing now was the guest of honour. Harry settled himself against the trunk of a cherry tree under which he'd spread the blanket. The branches were heavy with pink blossom, dappling the ground beneath as the sunlight filtered through the leaves. His eyes were closed now as he let the warmth of the sun seep into his body, happy to just listen to the sound of birds. The glade was far enough from Hogwarts to require a broom ride to get there, and Harry had already placed a few quick displacement wards around it so that if anyone other than Draco came near the area, they would walk straight by without realising what they'd missed.

Of course, Draco was late, but Harry wasn't particularly concerned. Draco was never good with time keeping when it came to being with Harry. Sometimes he thought Draco did it deliberately to keep the expectation heightened, and Harry knew that it did just that. He'd tried the same trick on Draco a few times, but it never had the same effect ... Draco would just be sitting there, waiting, normally engrossed in a book and acting as though Harry being there was some sort of afterthought.

As for the picnic, Draco hadn't actually said he'd be coming. Oh, there had been the quick nod when Draco had heard the message, but no other mention of it even though they'd spent the morning in Potions together. Harry opened his eyes, staring absently at the petals and watching as they occasionally spiralled down to the ground like little pink snowflakes. What if Draco didn't come? What if Harry had gone too far with his message?

Sometimes Draco was difficult to read and Harry knew there were still power games going on between them. Which wasn't surprising really, considering everything else that had happened between them over the years. He knew he enjoyed having Draco take him ... that feeling of someone else in control ... of not having to live up to the expectations of others as some sort of leader. But when he watched Draco in that moment ... that second ... of completion, when those pale features contorted with passion and pleasure and Draco would tremble from the strength of it, Harry felt like he was the most powerful person in the universe. That he could make Draco feel like that was stunningly beautiful to him.

When it was the other way round ... with him taking Draco ... the beauty of it was equally as stunning. To feel Draco giving himself so completely was awe-inspiring. He felt like each thrust was a revelation ... like his heart was singing. To watch those grey eyes, bright with passion, looking at him as if he was the only person in the world ... that he was all that mattered.

And to know that at that moment, it really was _all_ that mattered.

He was distracted from his thoughts by a dark speck in the sky which grew bigger and bigger, and he knew it was Draco astride his broom -- the silhouette was so familiar. Draco flew with a grace Harry knew he would never match; even the way his red shirt billowed in the wind was graceful.

Draco landed beside the cherry tree, climbed off his broom, and leaned it against the trunk. He shook his head, the blond hair settling around his face as he reached down to kiss Harry before turning his attention to the area in front of the tree.

"You've been busy, Potter."

Harry didn't answer. He was shocked by the unexpected casual possessiveness of the kiss. Draco had never kissed him like that before ... the sort of kiss he'd watched Mr and Mrs Weasley or Hermione's parents give in passing, something once described as 'a peck on the cheek'. His kisses with Draco had always been linked with passion rather than anything else, but this one was different ... as if Draco had done it simply because he had the right to.

He watched as Draco settled down on the edge of the blanket and reached out a hand for him. Harry took hold of it and let Draco pull him away from the tree and to his side. This time the kiss was the expected one of passion and he sighed into Draco's open mouth, luxuriating in the taste and feel. Draco tasted clean like peppermint, and he smelled of cinnamon and spices.

Like Christmas.

Harry pulled back, a little breathless, and studied Draco for a moment. "You wore the shirt." He fingered the silk.

Draco's eyebrow rose sardonically. "You asked me to. And let's face it, Harry, it's not exactly something I can wear any place else. Gryffindor colours and a huge Harry Potter lightning bolt on the front."

"True." Harry traced the yellow zigzag. "I'm surprised you kept it."

"Why?"

"Well..." he shrugged, "I don't know. I just thought...." Another shrug.

"You kept the one I changed. And this ... reminds me of something I want to remember."

"I could change the colour."

"No. I like it just the way it is."

Harry smiled and settled himself cross-legged beside Draco. "I wasn't sure you'd come."

"Really? After that message? I'm intrigued to see if your actions meet up to your promises. And besides," he shrugged, "it was either this or being dragged round Hogsmeade for the millionth time."

"So I'm just the lesser of two evils then? A picnic with me or Hogsmeade with your friends?'

Draco smirked. "Something like that, Potter." He looked around the glade before reaching up to take a cherry blossom petal from Harry's hair. "Is this one of your hideaways?"

"Not really. I found it back in my second year, and I'm pretty sure no one bothers to come out this far from school. It takes about 30 minutes to walk here."

"You've walked it?"

"Once ... flying's much easier." He found himself drawn to the fingers of Draco's right hand, which were currently running back and forth over the front of the red silk shirt. As the material stretched with the movement, Harry was sure he could see the hardening nub of Draco's nipple. "Flying only takes about five minutes." He swallowed. "But you know that."

The fingers swirled on the silk. "Yes I do."

Harry shifted closer. "About my message."

Draco tweaked his own nipple. "Mmmmm?" His eyelids fluttered closed briefly and when he opened them again, his pupils were dilated.

"Would you like me...?"

"Mmmm." Draco dropped back gracefully onto the blanket, arms spread out from his sides.

Harry watched him for a moment, wetting his lips at the sight of Draco spread before him. Then leaning over his body, he lowered his mouth to the already hard nipple, sucking at it through the silk. Draco moaned quietly, but he didn't move and Harry moved over to the other nipple. It was smooth against the silk, but quickly tightened as Harry worked it, while his free hand trailed down Draco's stomach to pull the shirt from the waistband of his trousers.

Pushing his hand under the silk, Harry stroked at the exposed abdomen, feeling the muscles shift and clench beneath his fingers. "How's that?" He nuzzled briefly at the hollow at the base of Draco's throat.

"You're getting pretty good at this, Potter." Draco's voice was a rough whisper.

"Tell me what you want." Harry followed the curve of Draco's jaw, tasting the clean sun-warmed skin. "It's your birthday party. What do you want me to do to you?"

"I want...." Long fingers pushed into Harry's hair. "I want you to do what you said in your message. Every little thing."

"Yes." Harry hissed as he shifted slightly, briefly kissing Draco before turning his attention to the shirt buttons. He carefully unfastened each one, letting the tips of his fingers brush over Draco's chest as he journeyed down until the shirt slithered off his skin to pool at his sides. "God, Draco ... you're exquisite." Harry leaned over the bared flesh and sucked at Draco's navel. "What do you want me to start with?"

For the first time, Draco moved, lifting his hand to touch his own groin, cupping himself. "I want your mouth."

"To do what?" Harry watched as Draco's hand tightened.

"To suck me."

"Oh yes. But you need to undo yourself first." Harry pulled back a little, watching as Draco pulled at his fly and wriggled his trousers down over his hips. He kissed the parted lips, feeling Draco's panting breath against his mouth. "And take yourself out."

Draco reached into his tight-fitting briefs, flipping the material down to expose himself. He plucked reflexively at the other boy with his free hand. "You should be undressing me, Harry."

"That wasn't part of the message was it?"

"Yes it was."

"Well, I'm busy with other things at the moment," Harry purred as he started moving over the smooth chest, pausing at each nipple again to suck and tease them back to hardness. "I need you to hold yourself, Draco." He trailed little nips along one clavicle and then the other.

"Nooooo!" Draco pouted. "You should do that."

"Hold yourself, Draco," Harry whispered against the other boy's mouth

He did, fingers reaching round the base of his erection as he felt Harry's breath on him. "Harry."

"Yes, Draco?" The words puffed over skin.

"Are you going to make me toss myself off?" Draco's long fingers were moving up and down.

"No. I told you to hold it ... not stroke it."

All movement stilled and Draco found himself waiting. And waiting. He whimpered, the need to move his hand battling with what Harry had just said. Hips wiggling, he shifted, pulling at his trousers with his unoccupied hand in an effort to free himself a little more. He was hard now, his straining erection tilting towards his stomach, and he let go. "Harry!" The word was a whine.

"I'm here."

Draco found himself engulfed in the warmth of Harry's mouth. He groaned, bucking slightly as Harry swirled his tongue around. Pushing, he tried to get Harry to take more in, but to no avail ... as he pushed up, Harry drew back.

"Like that?" Harry asked as he licked him.

The usually articulate Slytherin could say nothing, his entire world reduced to Harry's attentions. He was just feeling like he might come ... the familiar warmth building deep inside ... when Harry pulled away. Eyes wide, he looked to where the other boy was sitting, saw him take a mouthful of something and plunge back down onto him again.

The shock of ice cold made everything tense and contract. He hissed and shouted and grabbed at Harry's hair in an effort to pull away from the ice. But it was more than just cold, tiny bubbles burst against his skin ... tormenting ... tantalising. "Fuck, Harry!" The words were a cross between a moan and cry of pain.

When Harry finally released him, he trailed his cold tongue quickly up to Draco's navel, breathing icy breath into the little hollow.

He gave a sob as the breeze touched his skin, making it prickle from the cold, but he only had seconds to get used to the cold before Harry was on him again. This time he was surrounded by soft, thick warmth that seemed to cling to his skin. Where it touched it tingled and as Harry's tongue swept over him, the warmth spread.

Harry pulled away and scrambled back up Draco's body and kissed his gasping mouth, pushing his tongue between parted lips. Draco tasted warm honey and ginger on Harry's tongue and he sucked greedily at the mixture, hands clutching at the other boy as he pushed his hard erection against Harry's thigh.

Next time Harry kissed him, there was liquid ice and bubbles in his mouth ... coldness that somehow managed to set him aflame as that tongue tussled with his own. Draco lost track of how many times he was surrounded by the warmth and cold, but it held him perilously close to the edge for longer than he thought possible. He clutched alternately at the blanket, then Harry, and back at the ground again, cursing and panting as Harry took him repeatedly the edge but dragged him back over and over again.

As Harry pulled away one more time, their eyes met down the length of Draco's body. Green eyes sparkled as he licked Draco once more. Teasing with his tongue, Harry finally spoke, asking the same question he had posed the previous day in the Great Hall. "How would you like me to make you come?"

Draco whimpered almost incoherently in response. He was teetering on the edge, his whole body trembling with effort, and Harry wanted him to answer. Clutching at black hair, his hips bucked automatically as he desperately tried to push towards Harry.

This time there was no ice or fire in that mouth, just the warmth that was Harry. As Harry continued his attentions, Draco felt his insides tighten up. His vision fractured into white and pink ... sunlight through cherry blossom ... and he came with shuddering brilliance.

Draco's world came back into focus slowly, and it took him a moment to realise that he was on his back looking up at the sky through the branches of the tree. He was aware of his heart beating fast and his breath coming in shallow puffs, but it was the warmth along his side that finally made him move. Harry was lying beside him; one hand gently playing with Draco's hair. Reaching up to Harry, he pulled him down into a long, lazy kiss. There were still traces of honey on Harry's lips, and he carefully licked it away.

"Mmmm, where did you learn that, Harry?"

"Oh," Harry shrugged, a shy smile lighting his face. "I have my sources. Did you like it?"

"What do you think?" He kissed Harry again, delighted by the flush creeping over the other boy's face. "So, I know what the heat was ... honey and ginger ... but what was the cold?"

Harry rolled away from him and reached into the hamper, pulling out a small bottle. "It was supposed to be vodka, but I couldn't get any, so I used this." He held out the bottle.

"Elderflower champagne? Well, that explains the bubbles." Pushing himself back into his underwear, Draco adjusted his trousers and finally sat up. He reached for the bottle. "Maybe you could try it with proper champagne one day."

Harry blushed and retrieved his own half-full bottle, snapping off the top. "I would have, but they wouldn't sell me anything else."

"Well, next time let me try." Draco watched as Harry lifted the bottle to his mouth; head tilted back slightly as he swallowed the cold liquid, throat working as beads of moisture on the glass slid down his fingers. "I wonder what it would be like with Butterbeer?"

Harry gave a little choke. "Draco!"

"Or Firewhisky? Or maybe that stuff I found back at Hagrid's. We can try that sometime." He reached out a hand, feathering it across Harry's knee. "Melted chocolate?"

This time Harry smiled. "Well, I don't have melted chocolate, but...." He reached into the hamper and pulled out a bar of Honeyduke's Finest. Snapping off a square, he held it out to Draco who took both it and the tips of Harry's fingers into his mouth.

Keeping the fingers in his mouth, Draco held the chocolate square against them with his tongue, feeling as it softened. Then, holding Harry's gaze, he licked the sweet from the other boy's fingers. "Tell me, Harry, are you hard for me?"

Harry whimpered, squirming as Draco broke off another square and fed him it to him. The hand then dropped to cup the obvious bulge in Harry's trousers. He squeaked and reached down to cover Draco's hand with his own, pressing hard.

"Do you want me, Mouse?" The dark head nodded vigorously and Draco leaned in to lick the chocolate from Harry's lips. "Then here you are." He pulled away and turned onto his hands and knees, aware of the way his trousers moulded to his arse. Harry's eyes were fixed on him; he could feel him staring and knew that red mouth would be open, tongue running over those lips. "I'm all yours."

Harry wasn't sure how long he sat looking at the round globes of Draco's arse encased inside the cloth of his trousers and as Draco spread his knees more, Harry could do nothing but crawl across the blanket towards him. Almost with trepidation, Harry rested a hand on the curve of Draco's arse, letting out a groan as Draco pushed back against him. He'd fucked Draco before, but not like this.... Never....

"Harry." Draco spoke the name as a breathless sigh as he wiggled back, pressing against Harry who was now kneeling behind him. "Harry."

"Oh god." He was already hard ... had been since Draco had come ... and now to have Draco pressing into him.... Quickly Harry pulled Draco upright to rest back against his chest, and, with shaking hands, stripped Draco's arse bare. Then he gently pushed him back onto his hands and knees. Harry slowly ran his hands up over the curve of each buttock and then over the other boy's back, pushing at the silk shirt as his fingers grazed over the pale skin. The red silk slithered forward, pooling around Draco's shoulders and Harry marvelled at the butterfly shape of Draco's shoulder blades before tracing the sharply defined lines of each scapula with his tongue.

Draco moaned softly, his back arching into the touch as he pressed into Harry's caress. The hands pulled back down to Draco's sides, firm fingers feeling his ribs, the grip almost painful, before they slipped underneath to rub fingertips over Draco's nipples.

Harry leaned over Draco, pressing against the straining back, curling himself around the body beneath him as he nuzzled into the sensitive spot on the back of Draco's neck along the base of his hairline. Draco tasted salty-sweet, and he sucked at the spot as his hands roamed over the other boy's chest.

He pulled back, straightening and letting his hands run back down Draco's spine. His breath hitched as he let his fingers creep into the crevice between the perfect smooth globes before pulling away. Draco moaned as he spread his legs as far apart as the trousers around his knees would let him.

"Now, Harry. I want you inside me _now."_

Trembling, Harry quickly removed his own trousers, tugging at his boxers to release his achingly hard erection. He didn't dare touch himself for fear that he might come straight away. "I brought some oil...."

"Good! Then use it, or so help me, Harry, I'm going to fuck you right now!"

Slicking his fingers, Harry reached again for Draco, his breath catching as he leaned forward to kiss the base of Draco's spine. "Are you ready?"

"Oh yesssssssss," Draco hissed, and then moaned. "Harry, _now."_

With his hands on Draco's hips, thumbs on the boy in front of him, Harry joined himself to Draco.

It felt incredible. "So good, Draco ... so good. You feel amazing."

"So do you." Draco suddenly rocked forward, only to grind back. "Touch me...." he whispered.

"Where?"

"Everywhere!"

And Harry did, his hands roving over the exquisite muscles of Draco's back, enthralled by the way Draco curved into his touch. He couldn't believe he was here, doing this to Draco, watching as he moved. Listening to the words spilling from that sweet mouth. Feeling Draco move against him in response, seeing the way he trembled as they moved together.

Finally, he came. He knew he cried out ... heard Draco cry as well ... and he fell forward, curling around the body beneath him, holding on as if his life depended on it.

"You never cease to amaze me, Harry."

Turning a little, Harry snuggled closer to Draco. The two boys were lying on their backs under the cherry tree, Harry's head resting on Draco's shoulder, one of the blond's arms slung around him. They had cleaned up and the spring sunshine was hot enough for them to wear just shirts and underwear. "What have I done now?"

"You seem to have come prepared."

"What?"

"Well, considering this is supposed to be a picnic. Or do you carry a vial of oil with you all the time now?"

Harry grinned, but there was no hiding the flush on his face. "It didn't seem to worry you earlier." He reached for Draco's arm, threading his fingers with the other boy's. "There really is food though, if you're hungry."

"In a while." Draco turned, just enough to rub his cheek against Harry's hair. "I just want to lie here for a bit."

"Mmmm."

They both fell silent, enjoying being together in the afternoon sun. It was Harry who finally broke the silence. "I've got you a present."

"You have?" Draco shifted onto his side and he grinned. "Do I have to keep it until the day?"

"Well, no. Not unless you want to, that is." Harry disentangled himself from Draco and quickly rummaged in the hamper. Rather shyly, he handed over two packages and watched as Draco grabbed at them. Clearly, receiving presents was something Draco enjoyed and the reaction settled Harry's nerves a little. He still felt like grabbing them back, however, not sure he was ready for Draco's reaction to either item. Needing to do something, he reached into the basket and pulled out a bowl of strawberries. "It isn't much, just a couple of things."

The wrapping paper on the first package -- an oblong shape about six inches by three -- didn't last long. Draco was clearly a 'ripper' rather than an 'unwrapper', and the paper ended up in torn shreds on his lap. As the last piece fell away, he stared down at the carved and inlaid box in his hands. He turned it over, looking at the images of mythical creatures on the sides.

"I thought you could use it ... you know, to keep things in."

"It's nice. Thanks." Draco made to open the lid, but it didn't move. "It's locked."

Harry finally smiled. "It's a puzzle box. Well, actually it's Muggle magic."

"This is Muggle?" For a moment it looked like Draco was going to drop it, but after a moment's hesitation, his grip tightened again. "Muggles don't have magic."

"Well, not magic like we have, but they have their own version." Harry shifted closer. "It's a puzzle box and you have to work it out to find the key. I could show you, but where's the fun in that? I will give you a clue if you ask me nicely." He reached for the box.

Draco snatched it away and something rattled inside. "There's something in there."

"Open the box and you'll find out what it is. Do you want a clue?"

"No! I'm a wizard, this is Muggle, and I can get inside." He shook it again. "Is it breakable? The thing inside ... is it breakable?"

"No, you can rattle it all you like. Oh, and it won't open with a wand, so don't even bother trying."

"You are evil, Potter."

"The clue?"

"No!" Draco put the box down on the blanket and kept giving it surreptitious glances as he reached for the other package. It was soft and gave beneath his fingers as he squeezed it. "Not breakable?"

Harry was grinning now, eyes sparkling with pleasure. He took one of the strawberries and held it up to Draco. White teeth bit into it, leaving just the green stalk in Harry's fingers. "It shouldn't be, but then you haven't seen it yet."

The paper was ripped away and for several long minutes, Draco did nothing but stare at the small, stuffed lion in his hand. Finally swallowing the last of the strawberry, he looked at Harry. "It's a lion."

"Well, yes."

"Harry, I'm a big strong Slytherin and in four days I'm going to be eighteen. Now, a nice stuffed snake or even a dragon I could understand, but a lion?" He peered at it again, shaking it. "Is this Muggle as well?" Harry nodded. "Is it another puzzle?"

"Possibly."

"Are you going to be all enigmatic on me and say it has some deep spiritual meaning that I'm supposed to work out? I get enough of that sort of thing from Dumbledore."

"No, just...." Harry reached for Draco's knee. "It's to remind you ... when you go home."

"Of what?"

"That there's something to come back to."

It was a sudden spring shower of rain that finally forced the two boys to seek shelter in Hagrid's cottage. Draco had noticed the large black cloud approaching, but his mind had been otherwise distracted by the fact he was lying naked under the cherry tree with Harry straddling his hips.

As the rain began to fall, Draco clung onto Harry, holding him still. He watched the raindrops slide over Harry's tanned skin, mingling with his perspiration to run in little rivulets down his torso to collect between them. Harry gasped with each movement Draco made, his face a picture of concentration as he focused on what was happening, totally oblivious to the rain.

They came together as a crash of thunder echoed around the glade.

In the afterglow, Harry collapsed on top of him, their hearts beating a violent tattoo against each other as they both gasped for breath, the rain soaking them. The 'moment' finally broke with another crack of thunder and, giggling like little kids, they quickly dressed in clothes as wet as their bodies, gathered up the picnic things and fled to find somewhere dry.

"You've forgotten your lion!" Harry called as they both kicked off from the ground on their brooms.

Draco spun back round, flying low to the ground, boot caps scraping the grass as he reached for the toy. Scooping it up with his free hand, he pushed it into his shirt. Then swooping back to Harry's side, he held out his hand. "I'd never forget my lion."

They lounged in the huge bath for ages, the water perpetually warm, clean and full of wonderful bubbles.

"If you had to describe me as an animal, what would it be?" Harry asked as he washed Draco's hair.

Draco cradled himself back against Harry, one hand lazily stroking at Harry's leg under the water. "That's easy. You're a lion ... typical Gryffindor. Well, maybe a lion cub, all huge paws and falling around the place." Harry tried to push him under the water. "A great big kitten always getting into trouble and hanging by its claws from the curtains." He pulled the dark head towards him, kissing Harry thoroughly. "Or maybe you'd have to be a mouse."

"A mouse?" Harry pushed at Draco's shoulders, threatening to send him under the water again. "I am _not_ a mouse."

Water splashed on the floor as Draco finally got free. "Okay, okay, you can be a lion ... sleeping at the moment and waiting to be woken up." He grinned and then, staring into green eyes, asked, "What about you? How do you see me?"

Harry tilted his head thoughtfully. "It has to be a dragon, doesn't it? Draconis. Proud and breathing fire."

"Not a snake then?" Draco chuckled.

"No, you're a Chinese dragon ... they think dragons are lucky, you know. And they're often shown with a phoenix."

"Really? Chinese Muggles have dragons?"

"Like I told you earlier, Muggles have their own forms of magic."

Skin glowing from being briskly rubbed dry with huge fluffy towels, the two boys finally left the bathroom for the sofa in the lounge. As the rain continued to pit patter outside, Harry curled up on one corner while Draco stretched out along the length of the sofa, his head resting on Harry's lap. Harry fed Draco with the last of the strawberries and seedless grapes before licking the syrupy sweetness off Draco's lips.

"Draco...."

Neither had spoken for some time, both content to drift in the peaceful quiet of the room, listening to the crackling of the fire and the rain on the roof. Draco's eyes opened, his gaze heavy, and he looked up at Harry.

"Yes?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure." His hand slid down Harry's leg, catching gently at his ankle.

"Do you...." It was clear Harry was struggling, not sure how to phrase his question. He finally looked away, focusing on the fire for a moment before looking back. "Do you want to follow Voldemort?"

The shift from tranquillity to serious conversation and the directness of the question took Draco by complete surprise. "Harry ... I...."

"Look, it doesn't matter, you know. If you say 'yes', it's not going out of this room. I just need to know."

Draco sat up suddenly, twisting to sit side-by-side with Harry and fixing him with a stare. "It doesn't matter? After all the things we've talked about, after I've told you I don't want to go to him, you still have to ask?"

"Draco, look, it's just I need to know that you're doing this because you want to and not because you think it's what I want. I don't want you to change. I've told you that before and I mean it. I just need to know what you see as your future."

"And if I tell you it is to be at the side of the Dark Lord?"

"Then...." Harry took a deep breath. "Then I'll know, won't I?"

Draco frowned, eyes narrowing as he scrutinized Harry, looking for something -- anything -- to understand the question and how he should answer it. He was used to giving answers that others wanted to hear ... his father had taught him well how to read people and appease them. The easy answer to this question would be that he had no intention of following Voldemort. Whether it was true or not didn't really matter because this would be the answer Harry wanted to hear and it would keep the status quo between them. That way they could continue having exquisite sex until they went their separate ways after finishing school. Harry would then take the path Dumbledore and Black expected, and Draco could return to his life ... the one the last eighteen years had been preparing him for.

Or he could tell the truth and take whatever the consequences of that might be.

"Yes, you would know, wouldn't you?"

"Will you tell me?"

"How do you know I'd be telling the truth?"

"Because...." Harry reached out, pushing his hand into Draco's hair. "I trust you."

"You trust too easily, Harry." Draco reached for Harry's hand, pulling it from his hair but keeping hold of it. "If I said I was going to him, would you still trust me?"

"Until you went."

"And then?"

Harry's answering sigh was long and heartfelt. "And then I would probably have to face you on the battlefield."

"Yes, you probably would." Draco pulled the other boy's hand to his mouth, kissing it before letting it go. "Do you need me to answer?"

"Is answering that hard? Can _you_ trust me enough to be honest?" This time it was Harry who took hold of Draco's hand to raise it to his lips, kissing each finger.

"Harry, I don't want to be like..." _My father._ "...like his followers. I don't want to go to his side or to follow in his path."

"Then don't go home."

"What?"

"Don't go home on Tuesday. Stay here ... with me."

"Harry, we've talked about this. I'm going home for my birthday, not to some sort of execution." They had discussed the matter several times, mainly when Harry had been awakened by mind-ripping headaches and the memory of his nightmares.

"I know. It's just those dreams I've had. The ones with Voldemort...."

"It's not going to happen." Draco didn't know when he'd gathered Harry into his arms, but the other boy's head was against his chest and he breathed in the smell of his hair ... his body. "Voldemort...." He'd said it ... he'd finally said it. "Voldemort isn't going to be the guest of honour and I'm not going to get Marked. I'm going home to talk to my father and explain things ... tell him I'm not ready to make a decision yet."

"And you think he'll listen?"

"Of course. He's my father." The statement was made as a simple fact, which was not open to dispute.

"Then will you humour me?" Harry pulled back, meeting grey eyes again.

"Are you going to make some sort of brave Gryffindor statement now?"

"No."

"Yeah, right." Draco gave a little snort.

"I want to do something for you."

"Oh?" Even with the seriousness of the conversation, Draco couldn't prevent a hungry light from suddenly flaring in his eyes.

"No, not that. At least not yet anyway." A hand rose, resting flat over Draco's heart. "If you insist on going home, then please let me do some protection magic on you."

After everything else Harry had asked and said, this was the last thing Draco had expected. Protection magic? Harry wanted to do protection magic on him? The concept wasn't foreign to him of course; he'd been doing his own defence spells since he was old enough to use a wand. But no one had ever asked to perform the magic on him before, not even when he'd been involved in some of the more difficult or dangerous arts. He studied the green eyes watching him ... at the expectation in them, hiding just a little bit of fear.

Why not? If Harry wanted to cast a few quick spells, then who was Draco to stop him? After all, a bit of protection magic could work wonders. Then he remembered the magic Harry had wielded in the Archive ... the strength of it ... and he realised that the other boy might just be able to cast something more powerful than a general spell. "Protection magic?" Harry nodded, his hand plucking reflectively at Draco's chest. "And have you been practicing this?"

"Well, a little."

Draco couldn't suppress a smile. Typical Gryffindor. If the conversation had been the other way round and Harry had asked him that same question, Draco would have said 'yes' with archetypal Slytherin conviction. The little soft voice Harry now spoke in didn't exactly fill him with confidence. Finally, he responded with a simple nod. He could deal with anything Harry did wrong.

Then Harry smiled. Draco thought his heart might break, or that he might stop breathing, or that if his heart did break, it might pierce his lungs as well. He'd never seen Harry smile like that before, never seen him look at anyone so openly, and Harry was doing it for him ... just for him.

Draco leaned forward and kissed the smile, wanting to drink it in like fine wine. He felt Harry's hands link behind his neck, holding him gently close as the kiss deepened lazily, the other's tongue filling him with its sweet, familiar touch. He loved their passion-filled kisses, which inflamed his body and mind, but ones like this ... slow ... languid ... heartfelt ... always stirred something else in him. Sometimes it would be possessiveness, sometimes joy. But today it was a sense of belonging and, over and above the passion, a feeling that what he needed was right here in front of him.

With a mutual sigh they pulled apart, spending a moment just looking at each other as if wanting to remember the shape of an eyebrow or the colour along a cheekbone.

"Will you let me do this?" Harry finally asked.

Draco gave a little nod. "If you want."

"You need to want me to do this, otherwise I can't. It won't work if you don't want me to."

Draco pushed a hand into Harry's hair, clutching at the black silk. "Of course I do. You have my permission." An indulgent smile played briefly on Draco's lips before he touched them to Harry's forehead, feeling the raised skin of the zigzag scar against the tip of his tongue, as though giving some sort of benediction.

"Okay." With difficulty, Harry extricated himself from the tangle of arms and legs. "I'll just get my things."

Frowning, Draco watched the naked boy rummage in a drawer of the bureau. "Things?" He'd assumed Harry would speak a few incantations, maybe wave his wand, and then it would all be over. "What things?"

"It's a bit complex."

When he turned back, Harry held a small lacquered tray on which was a matching flask and bowl. There was also a small cup, about the size of an eggcup, several quills and Harry's wand. Harry put the tray on the floor in front of the fire and knelt down as Draco scrambled over, reaching out to pick up one of the quills.

"No, you mustn't touch anything. Not yet anyway."

Draco snatched his hand back, the authority in Harry's voice halting him in his tracks. He sat back on his heels, studying Harry thoughtfully. "Okay..." The single word was long and drawn out. "Harry, what are you doing?" It wasn't that Draco was worried ... oh no ... Harry might know some nifty magic, but in a duel Draco was convinced he would always best the Gryffindor. What he didn't like was _not_ knowing and the fact that Harry must have been planning this for some time.

Harry picked up his wand and spoke a quick incantation. The rug rose a little from the floor, seemed to shudder for a few seconds, and transformed into a low couch, complete with soft covers and a pillow. Then carefully he poured some liquid from the flask into the bowl. It shimmered silver ... like liquid metal or mercury. He beckoned to Draco to sit on the couch. "I'm going to need you to lie on your front in a minute."

Draco didn't move; instead he peered closely at the liquid Harry had just poured. He made no move to touch it, knowing full well that you didn't touch potions like this when specifically told not to. "Are you going to tell me what you're planning or not?"

"I've been studying protection magic with...." Harry paused as if unsure what to say. "With Sirius and Professor Snape...."

"You've been doing extracurricular studies with Snape?" Draco frowned. Snape working with the Golden Boy ... the person he'd spent nearly seven years tormenting with detentions and punishments? He knew Snape had once been a Death Eater, but was currently out of favour with the Dark Lord. So why would he want to teach Harry things like this? "That's a first. Haven't you spent most of your free time in detention just recently?"

"Well, yeah, I know. This is ... this is different."

"And I thought you were doing Animagi training with your godfather."

"Um ... that as well."

"Busy boy." Draco watched as a little flush of colour spread across Harry's face and for a moment he wouldn't meet Draco's eyes. _He's lying,_ Draco mused, wondering whether to push the fact. In the end he chose not to. "And you've come across this little ritual?"

Green eyes flickered up to meet his gaze. "Yes. There are protection symbols used in it." Harry picked up one of the quills and pantomimed putting it in the silver liquid and drawing something. "I'm going to draw them on you."

Draco wanted to laugh. In fact, he felt a strange desire to laugh out loud and it wasn't because he thought the idea of Harry drawing on him was funny -- he actually found the idea quite erotic. The laugh building inside of him, though, was the kind used to mask fear or worry. He wasn't sure which ritual Harry was planning to use, but he'd read about some using this method, and once had watched his father perform something similar -- the symbols and incantations had to be rendered almost perfectly for it to work properly. This wasn't the simple run-of-the-mill protection spell, but something extraordinarily deep and powerful. It was also not the sort of spell you came across in a book and decided to 'have a go'. It took planning and preparation and care.

And a very deep concern for someone's safety. His stomach give a little flip. Was Harry really that worried about him?

He didn't like the fact Harry was being so evasive about things. Was Harry really experienced enough to perform rituals like this? Even with his own extensive knowledge of ritual, Draco wasn't sure he could do it. What if it went wrong? And the potion -- that wasn't the sort of thing you could buy off the shelf. Of course, if Harry had been working with Snape and they had made it together, then it _should_ be okay; Draco had no doubts about the Potions Master's abilities. What he wouldn't have given to be a fly on the wall when Harry had asked about creating it.

But then Harry would have had to explain to Snape _why_ he wanted it. That might explain the way Snape had been looking at him lately.

The green eyes were watching him ... expectantly ... hopefully ... nervously.

"Are you sure about this, Harry?" he finally asked. "You don't have to do this."

"I want to. Please let me."

"Okay." Draco spoke quietly, the full implications of letting Harry do this sinking in -- if he let Harry continue, he would be committing some element of his own safety to a boy who didn't look strong enough to protect himself, let alone anyone else. He realised suddenly that this was what the whole day had been about ... it had been leading up to this moment. Even Harry washing him so carefully had been part of the whole rite.

"It's going to take a while."

"Well, I'm in no hurry."

"Good ... okay ... right."

"You don't have a knife."

"I don't need one."

"But isn't this a blood rite?"

"No, I've made some changes to it ... well, not changes, I found a different way of making the personal pledge bit."

"Harry, you can't just change rituals."

"Why not? When the ritual was first being created someone must have made changes and things to it. I didn't want to use a blood rite, so I looked for something else." He held out the quill to Draco. "Can you draw?"

Draco took it silently. It wasn't often he was lost for words, but the fact that Harry had the nerve to change an ages-old ritual _and_ to appear confident about it left him feeling confused. All his training had been aimed at learning the specifics of spells and to render them perfectly. And here was Harry turning everything on its head. He finally looked at Harry and gestured with the quill in silent question.

Harry shifted closer, placing the little dish between them. "Remember we talked about animals earlier? And you said you thought I was a lion?" Draco nodded. "For the ritual to work, we both have to give something of ourselves to it. This is instead of blood. I need you to draw it...." He rested his right arm on the edge of the couch, "... here on my arm.

Pursing his lips, Draco stared at the tanned flesh. "And you're going to draw a dragon on my arm?"

"Well, to start with. It means we've both given our intent to what's going to happen. It doesn't have to be a good drawing."

Draco's lip curled slightly. "I'm a Malfoy -- I only do good."

Still on the floor, Draco scooted over to the couch and leaned against it. For a moment he stared thoughtfully at Harry's arm, as if studying the tanned skin; then, dipping the quill into the bowl of silver liquid, he started to draw.

When he finished, Draco sat back and nodded to himself before added a final flourish to the lion -- a tiny lightning bolt mark on its forehead. "There." He looked at Harry. "Leoninus ... the lion."

Harry smiled at the rather impressive creature, with a suitably shaggy mane, now adorning his right forearm. The creature's rather magnificent tail twisted behind his elbow before wrapping around his bicep, with the tufted end flicking over his collarbone. "You're right, Draco, you do only do good." Frowning, he pointed down to one of the lion's rear paws on which a tiny mouse sat. "What is this?"

Draco shrugged as Harry glared at the addition. "I decided it couldn't hurt to hedge my bets."

"No, I guess not." Harry took the quill from Draco and threw it into the fire. Then picking up a fresh quill, he dipped it into the potion. "Now it's my turn.

Draco watched as Harry created a dragon on his arm, the silvered ink contrasting with his pale skin. This wasn't one of the dragons he'd seen in his books or in person, but something almost mythical. "Is it a Chinese dragon?"

"Yeah, sort of. Remember ... for good luck." He finished it with a little blast of fire from its mouth, the flame arching up Draco's thumb. "Draconis ... my dragon."

"That's how you see me?"

"Well, the inner Draco anyway."

Draco frowned, blinking quickly a few times. _That's not what I meant, _he wanted to say. _Do you think of_ _me as yours? _But he couldn't bring himself to ask that ... afraid of what Harry's response might be.

When he finally looked up again, Harry was holding out the little cup, now filled with the silver liquid, to him. "Ready to carry on?" Draco nodded. "I need you to drink some of the potion."

"I thought you were going to paint me with it, not ask me to drink it." He was surprised to find his voice a little rough with emotion and he cleared his throat.

"It's safe. I promise. Look..." With that Harry raised the cup to his own lips and swallowed the liquid. It sparkled on his normally pink lips, turning them iridescent and, for a moment, Draco thought that the same metallic shimmer flickered in his eyes ... over his skin.

_It's just the light, _he quickly reassured himself. _Just the light._

Harry refilled the cup and held it towards him. "Please take it. You need to drink it of your own free will."

Draco was surprised to find the little metal cup felt warm to his touch, as though the liquid inside was heating it. He sniffed at it suspiciously before finally raising it to his lips.

At first it didn't really taste of anything, and even though it looked thick and unpalatable, it actually was quite pleasant. It was warm in his mouth ... a slightly spicy flavour, but when he swallowed, there was an aftertaste of lemon ... a sharpness that reminded him of Harry ... of his skin and the taste of him on his tongue. He licked his lips, wondering if they sparkled as Harry's had and what the liquid would taste like in Harry's mouth if he kissed him.

The liquid slipped smoothly down his throat, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake that seemed to permeate through his entire body. When his eyes rose to meet those of the dark-haired boy again, he felt strangely relaxed -- not sleepy or light-headed, but a little hazy. As though he was watching himself from a great distance. There was something else, something he couldn't quite define in his current state of mind, but it felt like a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

"Let me take that, love."

Draco blinked, remembering that he was still holding the little cup. He looked down at it and watched as Harry's fingers reached out and took it. Harry had called him 'love'. His fingers were still curled as though they were holding the cup, and he watched the space where it had been as if it might hold the answer to every question he had ever wanted answered.

People didn't call him 'love', at least not anymore. His grandmother would call him 'love' and 'darling' and 'my little angel', but people didn't call grown-up boys that did they?

He remembered his father saying he loved him when he was five. They had been out in Malfoy Park and Lucius had picked him up, swinging him round and round until they had fallen to the ground in a giddy tumble. He remembered picking up a handful of grass and dropping it onto his father's face. Lucius had gathered him into his arms and told him he loved his son no matter what happened.

He also remembered his mother saying she loved him when he first left for school. He had been in his room at the manor trying on his new school robes the day before leaving for his first year at Hogwarts and she had looked at him and smiled. "Look at my lovely boy -- all grown up."

Draco looked up and reached out the cup-shaped fingers towards the person who had called him 'love', as though trying to give something ... a gift ... himself. He thought the person had green eyes, but it was all a bit hazy now. A hand took hold of his, gently squeezing with a warm pressure.

"I miss her so much."

"I know," the iridescent lips shaped words. "It's going to be okay."

"I'm scared," Draco whispered, as he felt lips brush against his cheek, trailing their iridescent sparkle in their wake.

"You don't have to be ... not any more. I've got you." Harry ran his hand through the soft silk of Draco's hair. "I've got you."

Draco released an audible sigh as Harry's hand stroked soothingly over his shoulders, the strong fingers moving over his muscles. He knew he was handing himself over to Harry's care and suddenly it seemed the right thing to do. "I know -- don't let me fall."

Harry nodded. "I won't. Come on, Draco, I need you to lie down."

Strong arms cradling him, Draco let Harry help him onto the couch, lowering his unresisting body down to the covers. He didn't resist as the Gryffindor rolled him over so that he was on his front, instead content to relax and give himself over to the sensual caresses.

Continuing to pet and stroke, Harry watched the boy for a moment. He was feeling more than a little nervous now. The potion didn't affect him as the caster, but it was supposed to relax the other person, so that they would remain quiescent during the ritual. However, Draco's reaction was much more than he had expected. The recipient was supposed to agree to the procedure, not drift away in some dreamlike state the whole way through. Draco was so out of it that he wasn't sure whether it would be a good idea to do the protection magic, let alone the Marking. Harry had been tormented by that part of the ritual, but he had at least expected Draco to be lucid during the whole thing.

But then, Draco _had_ finally admitted to not wanting Voldemort's Mark, so Harry felt he somehow had Draco's implicit permission to carry on.

Harry placed the flat of his hand on the small of Draco's back, as if by doing so he might be able to sense what was going on in the muddled mind. Maybe, just maybe he was already too late. Perhaps Voldemort had already gotten to Draco and no amount of magic would keep him safe. Perhaps this was a direct reaction to something the Dark Lord had already done to him.

He watched as Draco sighed again, settling on the bed. His head was turned away from Harry, and both arms were lazily slung upwards, hands towards the pillow end of the couch. Slowly, Harry ran his hand down the leg closest to him -- Draco's left -- it was straight, while the other was bent slightly. He let his fingers rest lightly on the trim ankle. "Are you still with me, Draco?"

There was a little delay before Draco answered with a long, "Ummmm." And then, "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

The response made Harry heave a silent sigh of relief; Draco at least sounded rational, if a little like he'd been drinking. "Yes, of course I do. Don't you trust me?"

"I never trust Gryffindors." The words were a little mumbled. "I think this pillow is a Gryffindor. It's trying to suffocate me."

"You can turn your head, it's okay to do that."

"Oh, right." There was a pause and then the voice was clearer. "That's better. Remember that, Harry, never trust pillows."

"Okay," Harry laughed, "I'll try to remember that." He leaned down to kiss Draco's ankle.

"Am I allowed to go to sleep?"

"I'd rather you stayed awake, just for the minute anyway."

Draco let out a huff, the breath tightening the muscles across his back; Harry wondered if he'd ever seen anything quite so erotic in his life. He traced his fingertips back up the leg, over the taut curve of Draco's arse and finally rested his hand at the base of the spine. Then, carefully, he let his mind reach out to the Earth Magic woven into the very fabric of the building and used it to construct a place of safety for them both. While he knew how long it had taken to carry out the Marking on Snape, he had no idea how long the additional protection ritual might take and with Draco clearly incapable of helping him at the moment, Harry wanted to make sure they were both safe.

As he finished, he remembered the first time he'd tried to produce a place of safety ... out there in the Forbidden Forest with Sirius. His godfather had asked who he was protecting and Harry had answered, "The Dragon." Here he was now, with his dragon, using the same magic but for real this time.

"Are you a fairy?"

"What?" Harry leaned forward and kissed the soft skin between Draco's shoulder blades. "Well, I didn't have wings last time I looked."

"You don't need wings; you've got a broom."

"Maybe you should go to sleep after all."

"I remember when we were at Hagrid's that first night ... New Year ... do you remember?"

"I remember." Harry's fingers had reached Draco's neck, and he marvelled at the way the blond hair curled against the curve of the nape. He only had vague recollection of most of that evening, and he suspected Draco was the same ... they had both drunk a considerable amount of Hagrid's liquor.

"I remember thinking that your ears..." Draco paused, suddenly very interested in the edge of one of the sheets. He finally pushed himself up on one elbow so that he could see Harry. "You did magic like that before."

"Like what?" Harry brushed the hair from Draco's face.

"What you've just done to this room, I can feel it -- you did that when you came to me down in the dungeons. Remember?"

"Oh yes, I remember." He poured some more of the silver liquid into the bowl.

"And you had some sort of sprite with you ... it found your glasses. I saw it. If you can talk to ethereals, then you must be part fairy or something like that." Draco watched intently as Harry carefully dipped the quill into the liquid. "What are you doing?"

Harry paused and stared thoughtfully at Draco, remembering what the Boy at the pool had said about his mother. It had never occurred to him that the little light he'd asked to find his glasses was anything but an extension of his own innate magic. But it wasn't the question of his ancestry that focused his attention now, it was amazement at how open the potion seemed to be making Draco, and he wondered just what type of questions the blond would answer in his current state.

"I'm going to start the ritual now. Will you lie down and relax for me?"

"Okay." Draco kept looking at him for a moment, thoughtfully chewing on his lip. "Will you kiss me first? I like it when you do that."

Harry tried to swallow, sure that tears were welling up in his eyes. He quickly put that down to the stress of all the magic he was working with. "If you want."

"Please."

He put the bowl and quill down and leaned across the lithe pale form, supporting himself on his hand. His other hand moved to caress the back of Draco's neck and, at the touch, his eyelids fluttered closed. Harry moved closer and placed a quiet, chaste kiss on the forehead, then one on the throat. Finally, he met the soft open mouth. Draco sighed against his lips. "Was that okay?"

"Mmmm." Grey eyes flickered open. "Okay, you can get on now."

"Thank you."

"I love you."

A breath hitched in Harry's throat at the three words, and he stared at the person who had just uttered them. Mouth opening and closing he found himself unable to actually speak. Had he really heard Draco say that? People didn't say that sort of thing to him. His family hated him ... lots of people hated him. His housemates liked him, some people admired him, others accepted him as some sort of saviour, but the only people who ever said they loved him were Hermione and Sirius. Harry swallowed, torn between wanting to respond and needing to ignore the words ... to put them down to the potion rather than any real feelings. "Draco..."

But the boy had already resumed his position, back to the restful sprawl he had been in earlier.

Harry stroked a hand back down the boy's body, resting it again on the small of Draco's back. "I love you too," he whispered so quietly that he wasn't even sure if he'd spoken the words. "That's why I'm doing this. I don't want them to hurt you."

It took him a few minutes to gather his composure again and he sat quietly, staring out of the window, content to keep contact with the warm skin for a little while before continuing. He could feel the change in Draco's breathing ... it became slower, deeper ... and he let his own pick up the pattern as he reached for the unused quill.

Harry bent down and kissed the base of Draco's spine, then, chanting softly under his breath, he began to draw on the soft flesh. Slowly it turned into a sleeping lion, the silver potion changing colour on contact with the skin, losing its luminescence and becoming more muted. Finally satisfied, he sat back, studying the creature before whispering, "For protection." He watched as the lion stretched, front paw extended, shook its heavy mane and curled back around Draco's spine. It dozed as a shaft of late afternoon sunlight filtered through the raindrop covered window ... waiting....

As the lion settled into sleep, Harry began his worship of the sleeping dragon. The first symbol was drawn on Draco's ankle and from that point he slowly and methodically covered the pale skin in silver. He fell into a routine ... a soft kiss on an untouched patch of skin... quiet, precise articulation of an incantation ... careful rendering of the appropriate symbol, the quill sliding easily over the warm skin.

It was one of the most intimate things he had ever done.

Harry lost track of time, and it was only after he had turned Draco over and had covered the rest of his body with the symbols that he realised it was dark and that he'd been working by the light of the fire. Candles flared into life and he turned back to find grey eyes watching him. There was a calmness in those eyes, as though Draco had accepted whatever might happen to him. Did he know, Harry wondered. Did he realise that the next thing Harry would do was to brand him as Voldemort would? He looked at the soft skin of Draco's inner arm -- the only untouched area of skin -- and ran his thumb over it. Could he do this?

It seemed wrong. Oh, he'd gained permission for the protection magic, but not for the Marking and while he understood what Snape had told him ... could see the rationale ... it didn't seem _right_ for him to do this without Draco's permission. What if Draco hated him afterwards? What if Voldemort didn't try to Mark him? What if even after all of this Voldemort still managed to take Draco as one of his own?

What if...

He met the grey eyes again and spoke out loud for the first time in an age. "I'm sorry."

Draco smiled. "Don't be."

He didn't need a wand to do this. The Earth energy running through him was already so focused in his hand that he could feel it flowing as he'd drawn the symbols. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't."

The quill felt like an extension of his fingers now and he looked at it ... saw how the tip shimmered in the light ... how the silver potion seemed alive. Holding Draco's elbow steady, he began to draw the final symbol. The silver liquid flowed onto the paleness and this time it remained shining bright as Harry slashed a lightning bolt zigzag on the skin. He could feel the dragon come alive on Draco's arm, as if it knew what he was about to do and without looking he could sense that the tail of the lion on his own arm flicked across his collarbone, and the one on Draco's back woke up, shaking its heavy mane.

Harry carefully put down the quill and held his hand over the innocuous symbol. The liquid remained on the surface, not sinking into the skin at all. He could almost feel its shape, the texture, and the way it flowed around the fine downy hair that barely marred the flesh. The grey eyes still watched him and Harry thought he felt Draco flinch slightly.

"This might hurt."

"Okay." The eyes closed.

And Harry's hand settled on Draco's skin.

The reaction wasn't what he had expected and nothing like it had been with Snape.

He could feel the shape of the Mark on his palm. It felt like it was expanding ... reaching into him as it buried itself into Draco's arm. With Snape the connection had seemed tenuous at best, but with Draco he could feel the energy flowing through him, linking and joining them. As the magic flowed from his hand and into Draco, he realised that for a moment he _was_ Draco and Draco was him. He knew that he was hurting the other boy because he could feel the pain; he could feel the Mark moving into his body, could feel that _shape_ ... each and every millimetre of it as if a cookie cutter was slicing it into his own flesh.

When Draco let out a small cry, it was as though it had come from his own lips. The sound was like a benediction ... the sound of his own heart as it had wept and cried away his childhood, looking for an answer without ever knowing what the question was supposed to be.

As he drew his hand away from Draco's arm, he saw the Mark ... a livid red slash against the pale skin. He saw it mirrored on his own palm and he knew what the question was.

It was 'Draco'.

And the answer was 'Mine'.

Harry didn't remember falling asleep, if sleep was what it was, but when he roused again, his head was nestling on Draco's stomach. The other boy hadn't moved, and Harry could tell from the way he was breathing that Draco was dozing as well.

He slowly sat up and looked down at the boy stretched out on the couch. He looked like a sacrifice, Harry mused, with his body covered by magical symbols ... there were even marks on his eyelids, his penis, surrounding his nipples, colouring his lips.

But it was the zigzag mark on his forearm that drew Harry's gaze. If he'd performed the magic right, it would disappear, hidden from sight and magic. If he'd made a mistake, it would be a ragged raw scar on Draco's skin for the rest of his life.

Kneeling over the still form, Harry kissed Draco....

Forehead ... eyelids ... cheeks ... throat ... chest ... hands ... navel ... feet ... lips.

As he made the last kiss, returning to Draco's forehead, he felt the magic change. Each of the symbols turned liquid again, flowing over the skin until Draco seemed to be covered in silver. Then, the silver sank into the flesh, like water being soaked up by sand.

As if woken from a dream, Draco opened his eyes and he gave a sleepy smile. "All finished?"

Harry nodded as he ran his finger over the place he'd Marked Draco's arm. The skin was clear and clean. He almost sobbed in relief and for a moment didn't trust himself to speak. Instead he just reached for Draco, hanging on as if the other boy was his lifeline. When he finally did speak again, it was with a voice thick with emotion. "All finished. Are you okay?"

"Mmmm, fine. Harry...."

"Yes?"

"I'm not going to him. Ever."

Harry's sharp intake of breath caught in his throat and he found it hard to swallow. When he finally spoke his voice was gravelly. "Thank you." He knew the response wasn't enough ... nowhere near enough ... but he couldn't think of anything else at that moment.

"And Harry...."

"Yes?"

"Will you kiss me again?"

"Sure. That I can do." Sliding an arm behind Draco's neck, Harry pulled him up a little, kissing him gently. Then, casting a levitation spell, he slipped his other arm under Draco's knees. "I think you need some sleep."

He straightened, cradling his lover's body against his chest, and carried Draco into the bedroom.

**_Malfoy Manor ... Tuesday 7th April 1998_**

The entrance door to the manor opened as Draco reached it. He knew that it always opened when he approached, but he'd never given much thought as to how or why it did it. The manor was his home; it knew him and reacted to him as he walked through it.

Without even bothering to take off his travel cloak, he climbed the main staircase two steps at a time, and reaching the first floor, he strode along the landing. At the far end, where the building looked out over the manicured lawns at the rear of the house, was a room he knew so well ... his father's study. He paused for a moment, hand on the doorknob, before opening the door.

"Father."

The man at the desk looked up and smiled. "Hello, Draco." Blue eyes glinted with a flash of red. "I'm sorry, Lucius isn't here at the moment, but I can't tell you how pleased I am to see you."

----------------------------------------------

_Don't ask me what you know is true  
Don't have to tell you  
I love your precious heart  
I was standing, you were there  
Two worlds collided  
And they could never, ever tear us apart._

_Never Tear Us Apart_ - Joe Cocker  
  
-------------------------------------------------------

**_Part 2 -- Worlds Colliding:_**

**Chapter 10:** **8th April 1998**: Draco's birthday party and Harry's trip to Glastonbury.

-------------------------------------------------------

**Author's Notes**

When I first started this story, I had planned six short chapters. Over the last two and a half years, it has taken over my life and developed into this monster. Nine chapters ... 270,000 words. With Chapter 9, _Resolution_ has reached its halfway point and the end of **Part 1,** which I've decided to call **If there were no Barriers.**

**Part 2** is to be called **Worlds Colliding** and, as the above lyrics say _They could never, ever tear us apart._

Thank you ALL for sticking with me through the long delays. Thank you for your continued support and inspiration. Thank you for taking the time to review and write.

**Special thanks**

**To my Betas** (in alphabetical order): _Golden Snitch, Kupukello, Milena, Olivia, Nancy, Plumeria, Stacey_ and _Verdant._ I don't know where I would be without these people. Special mention must go to **Plumeria** for her help with the perennial ratings problems, and to **Verdant **for pulling things together at the last moment and for the hours of excellent conversation.

**Artwork:**

I am very lucky to have several new pieces of artwork drawn for this chapter by **Mijan** (some of you might know her as PhoenixSong). The detail in her artwork is just lovely. The art by **Lisa Rourke** wasn't actually drawn for _Resolution_, but she has been kind enough to let me link to it. All artwork is linked in the appropriate places throughout the chapter. I was also delighted to get a picture from **Brightsun** for chapter 3 of Harry in his Valentine robes. If the links don't work, you can check it out here: 

**Lisa Rourke's artwork:** Tom Riddle

**Mijan's artwork:** Harry and Sirius at the pool, Harry Marks Severus.

**Brightsun's artwork:** Harry at the Valentine's Ball.

The photo of _Harry with his wand_ is from _The Prisoner of Azkaban_. It is copyrighted to Warner Brothers.

There are two Yahoo groups associated with my stories:

The adult group for Resolution can be found at: WorldsColliding: The Restricted 

The general group can be found at WorldsColliding. The R-rated version of Resolution and my non-slash story Coming of Age can be found 

Any reviews are more than welcome, either here on the Fiction Alley Board (click on review), to me at or feel free to post your comments at WorldsColliding.


	10. 8th April 1998

**Title: Resolution. Chapter 10: 8th April 1998 (10?)**

**Author name:** Frances Potter

**Author email:** frances. Slash (Harry/Draco), Humour, Romance, Angst

**Keywords:** Harry, Draco, 7th year, Slash

**Spoilers: **All books

**Rating:** PG13. Slash. Male/Male sexual relationship. Language. Adult themes.

**Summary:**  
_res·o·lu·tion, noun -- solving of doubts, problems, questions etc. The Concise Oxford Dictionary_  
When you've spent six years fighting evil, all you really want is a quiet time. But when your name is Harry Potter the chances of that are very slim. Exams, friends, lovers, enemies, Quidditch, birthdays, the war and Draco all conspire to make Harry's final six months very, very complicated and the end of term a long way off. Slash (Harry/Draco)

**Chapter 10: 8th April 1998** Draco celebrates his eighteenth birthday.

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

The concept of Earth magic and seeing stones are both based loosely on ideas in "The Amtrak Wars" books by Patrick Tilley (published by Sphere).

**Dedication:  
**This chapter is dedicated to **Di** and the **Georgia Penguins**. Thank you for all the postcards and all the things that make life sweeter..

**Author's note:** _Resolution_ was started before the publication of _Order of the Phoenix _and is based on the canon of PS/SS, CoS, PoA and GoF. While certain canon facts from _OotP_ will be incorporated in the story (such as spells and locations), the events of Harry's 5th year in _Resolution_ are **NOT** the same as those in **OotP**.

Amongst other things, _Resolution_ makes the following assumptions:

1. Sirius Black is alive.  
2. Voldemort's return at the end of GoF is not common knowledge to the Wizarding world and many people, including the Ministry of Magic still refuse to believe it.  
3. Lucius Malfoy is still considered to be a pillar of the community and any connections he might have with the Dark Lord remain a secret.  
4. Draco Malfoy was never picked as a prefect.  
5. Wizards and witches come of age at eighteen.  
6. Wizards love to ski!

------------------------------

**_We are, each of us, angels with one wing and we can only fly by embracing one another_** -- Lucian de Creszenza

------------------------------

Chapter 10: 8th April 1998 

**Morning ...**

**_... Malfoy Manor ..._**

It was, Draco decided, the perfect day for flying; he could see for miles and miles. There was just a hint of chilliness in the clear morning air and the feeling of perfection was helped, in no small way, by the new broom on which he was currently flying loop-the-loops over Malfoy Manor. The Thunderbolt had been amongst his indecently large pile of birthday presents, and as he'd unwrapped the sleek broom, he'd fallen in love with it immediately.

Of course he had read about it in _Quidditch Weekly, _but never had he thought his father would relent and buy him one after his Nimbus 2001 had been destroyed. Now here he was, flying over the estate on a broom that made his old one seem like it should be sweeping the floor rather than speeding through the air.

Executing an exquisite 180-degree turn, he sped across the private Quidditch pitch, looping around and through the huge golden goal posts before racing back to the other end to repeat the manoeuvre, finally ending up hovering over the centre spot. As he hung there, high above the ground, he found himself grinning inanely at the thought of showing off his new broom to Harry. Assuming, that was, his father let him take it back to school with him.

That thought brought him up short. He was eighteen today ... he was an adult and that meant he didn't really have to ask for his parents' permission anymore. As he flew in a lazy spiral towards the ground, the idea pleased him even if, in his heart of hearts, he knew that wasn't really the case.

Suddenly wanting to see just how fast he could kick off from the ground, he touched down onto the grass. He could feel the broom almost straining beneath him, as if it was as desperate as he was to get back into the air again.

And that was where he wanted to be. Up there ... in the sky. When he flew, he could almost forget everything else. All he needed to worry about was the feel of the wind in his hair and the power of the broom he was riding. He didn't have to think about who had shared the dinner table with him and his parents the previous evening or the casual way the person he knew was the Dark Lord had talked to him.

At first Draco had only been able to mutter 'yes' and 'no', but as the evening had progressed, things had changed to an informality that had confused him. They had talked about Quidditch and school and Draco had found himself answering the man back as the light banter had continued.

It was easy, Draco considered, to forget that the man was actually Lord Voldemort. David Morrello seemed so ... normal ... so ordinary. No wonder people liked David and thought of him as a great Quidditch team owner and patron. David had a way of looking at people that made them feel relaxed and important -- that if you were with this man you would be safe.

It would be so very easy to fall under the man's hypnotic spell. But then Draco would see a glint of red in the blue eyes or a cold, calculating look that would remind him just who David was. He would remember being made to kneel at the Dark Lord's feet the previous summer and of the feel of the man's long, bony finger on his chin.

Draco shivered, not wanting to think of Voldemort and his parents' relationship with the man. Or of how his own relationship with Harry had now changed everything.

He didn't want to think about any of that ... not here, not now. Today was his birthday.

Bracing himself, Draco tightened his grip on the broom, and he was just about to launch himself skyward when he caught sight of a figure emerging from the small pavilion at the side of the pitch. At first he thought it had to be David, but then he recognised the person's stride and realised just who it was -- Alex Palmer, his Quidditch coach from the previous summer.

The man waved and, pushing his hands into his trouser pockets, he strode across the grass.

Draco swallowed almost nervously; he remembered in vivid detail the last time they'd been together, and it brought a sudden flush to his cheeks. It had been there in the pavilion with Alex thrusting deep inside him and Draco clutching at the older man as if his very life depended on it.

To see him again ... this person who had seen and been in places only Harry had, flushed him with a cross between desire and awkwardness. It didn't help that some visceral part of him was responding to the man's presence; he could feel a familiar stirring inside. He pressed hard against the broom shaft hoping the pain might just stop him from embarrassing himself.

"Happy birthday, Draco." Alex stopped beside the broom and rested a hand on the end of the shaft. "How does it feel to be eighteen?"

Draco gave a lop-sided grin, warmth flooding through him at Alex's deep voice. "No different than being seventeen. Except for the presents, of course. Thanks for the World Cup tickets. Do you think England will win this time?"

Alex gave a shrug, his thumb rubbing in small circles over the carved end of the shaft. "Not with the current team. We need new blood in the game. Players like you, for instance." He looked up, eyes hooded, mouth curving in a small smile. "Or Harry Potter. We wouldn't go far wrong with him on the team."

"He's over-rated," Draco snorted, his relationship with Harry not impinging on their status as rivals on the Quidditch pitch.

"Really? That's not what I've heard, but then I haven't seen him play." His hand continued to caress the smooth wood lightly. "Of course that's going to change."

Draco managed to drag his attention from the man's hand, though the memory of the fingers deep inside him refused to go away. "Oh?" He chose not to add anymore for fear his voice might crack.

"Mmm, did you read about the Quidditch Scholarship in the _Prophet?"_ Draco nodded. "Cornelius Fudge has arranged for a special end-of-term match at Hogwarts, which I'm going to referee. All the current players names get put into a hat and fourteen get picked to play."

"Really? No one's said anything."

"Well, the match is supposed to be a secret," Alex winked, "so keep quiet until it's officially announced. I'm looking forward to seeing you play Chaser." He lifted his hand from the shaft and placed it back on the wood near Draco's crotch. "I want to see if you remember any of the moves I taught you."

The man was now at Draco's side, close enough for him to lean over and kiss that knowing smile. It would have been so easy. "I'd rather play Seeker," was the only response he could think of. He thought he could feel the broom vibrate and realised Alex's other hand was now on the broom behind him, the merest touch pressing against him.

"Well, I'm sure the day will just be full of surprises." Alex raised his hand and ran a finger across Draco's cheek. "So..."

Draco swallowed as the man's closeness and touch set in motion a sensation that made him whimper a little; he was starting to get hard. Mentally he began going through Arithmancy tables in his head in an effort to control himself. At the moment the only person he wanted to feel like this for was Harry. He took a calming breath. "I'm seeing someone."

Alex's lip curled slightly. "Oh? Who's the lucky girl?" At Draco's hesitation, he continued. "Or boy?" This time Draco found himself looking away, all too aware of the wash of heat colouring his cheeks. "I see now that what I taught you hasn't gone to waste." He patted Draco's shoulder and leaned closer to his ear to whisper. "Well, if you'd like any more lessons, I'm going to be here for a few days, and I'm sure I can teach you some more that your boyfriend will take pleasure in." Teeth tugged gently on his earlobe before Alex stepped back. "Enjoy your day, Draco. I'll see you at the party later."

**_... Glastonbury ..._**

The huge motorbike dropped out of the sky, touching down onto the narrow country lane with hardly a jolt. Harry let out a whoop of excitement as a small cloud of dust billowed in their wake. His fingers dug deeper into the leather of Sirius' jacket, and he leaned back slightly, letting the breeze blow through his hair as the bike sped from the bright morning sun into the dappled shade of the overhanging trees.

"All right back there?" The words were whipped by the wind, but a simple spell had made it easy for Sirius to talk to his passenger.

"It's great. Are we..." Harry paused as he felt what seemed to be something hot trickling down his back, and he realised Sirius had lifted the Disillusionment charm he'd cast earlier. He, Sirius and the motorbike were once again visible. "Are we nearly there?"

Sirius chuckled as the motorbike emerged from a tunnel of trees into the sunlight and slowed to a halt. With a wave of his hand, he removed the safety wards from himself, Harry and the bike. "Yep, we're here."

With the ease of youth, Harry jumped from the motorbike and crossed the road to stare through a gap in the high hedge. On the other side, rising into the sky, were the terraced slopes of Glastonbury Tor. It had dominated the relatively flat surrounding landscape as they'd flown in, but now, up close, it seemed even bigger and higher. Harry raised a hand to shield his eyes, squinting a little in the bright sunshine. "Is that a church tower?"

"Yeah ... the church of St Michael, built in the fifteenth century. " Sirius joined his godson. "He's supposed to have slain dragons."

"Really? I thought that was St George."

Sirius grinned. "Nope, there were lots of dragon-slayers. You should ask Charlie Weasley about it, he's an expect on dragon myth. Remember the energy lines and power points we talked about?"

Harry nodded. "Like the pool in the Forbidden Forest."

"That's one of them, though I'm not sure if there is a place like that at any of the other points ... certainly not here." He paused, staring thoughtfully at the square tower on top of the hill. "Of course, you need to be taken to the pool at Hogwarts by someone who knows about it, so there might be one here as well, hidden away. Maybe something to do with the Chalice Well gardens -- I'll take you there if we have time."

"Okay." Harry followed his godfather's gaze. "And there's an energy point here, on the Tor?"

"Yes. Can you feel it?"

"Mmmm, I can feel something, but it's not quite the same as the energy at the pool. Now that we're here, the magic's much stronger ... it's a bit like ... well ... static, I guess. You know what it's like just before a thunderstorm when the air sort of gets thick and muggy? It's like that, but not as unpleasant."

"Do you think you could use it?"

"I don't know. You want me to start pulling rabbits out of hats or doves from my sleeves?"

"Bottles of Butterbeer would be better." Sirius grinned. "When we get up to the summit, I'd like you to try for a connection again. See if you can link in with the energy here like you did at Hogwarts."

Harry frowned, remembering what had happened while he had been at the pool, how he'd been shown the lines of Earth Magic that criss-crossed the country and how many of them were blocked by Voldemort's Darkness, inhibiting the free flow of magical energy. He concentrated for a moment, trying to pick it up again. "It's all a bit -- confused. You know, like it's jumbled together."

"That's not surprising. There are supposed to be loads of power sources converging around this area, so many that even the Muggles have noticed. They call them ley lines. The main one runs from St Michaels Mount in Cornwall," Sirius waved in the general direction of the southwest, "through here, on through the stone circle at Avebury we passed over on the way here and then on to Norfolk. Your father and I tracked it the summer after we finished at Hogwarts."

"You did?" Harry turned, leaning back on the fence that spanned the gap in the hedge, desperate for any snippet of his father's life.

"Yeah," Sirius nodded. "We rode the bike, trying to stay as close to the line as possible. That's where we got into trouble with the Malfoys. They own huge tracts of land that run over the line and one of the groundsmen caught us camping on the estate."

"Malfoy Manor's on a ley line?" Harry's attention suddenly piqued at the thought that Draco's home was possibly nearby.

"It's at Avebury. Remember the huge building in the centre of the stone circle we flew over?" Harry nodded. "That's the Manor house. Malfoy ... Lucius Malfoy's father ... was not happy when he found out we'd just waltzed through his protection wards. The expression on his face was just classic ... we thought he might explode. We had to hightail it out of there before he hexed us within an inch of our lives." Sirius gave a wistful chuckle at the memory. "Anyway, Muggles love Avebury, but the stone circles they visit are just decoys to keep them away from the real ones. It's a shame the stones are on Malfoy land, because they won't let anyone visit. I remember Albus tried to arrange a trip back when I was at Hogwarts, but Malfoy refused ... didn't want riff-raff on his land."

"The stones ... are they important?"

Sirius nodded. "It's all linked, Harry ... here, Avebury, Stonehenge, Hogwarts ... I'm hoping you'll be able to read the lines by tracking your way along them to pick up the other power points."

"Without actually being at those places?"

"Yeah ... something like that."

"Well, I guess I can try." Harry pointed at the hillside. "Is that terracing part of the labyrinth you were talking about?"

"Supposedly." Sirius leaned on the fence. The road they had landed on was about half way up the side of the Tor and it descended steeply down to the base. "It starts down at the bottom near the guesthouse we're staying at and works its way around and up the terracing. They say it'll take about four hours to walk it." He slung an arm around his godson's shoulders. "Still up for it?"

"I can beat you any day, old man!" Harry sniggered a little.

"Ah yes, but can you beat Padfoot?"

"That's cheating!"

"That's years of practicing to be an Animagus, Harry." Arm still around the boy's shoulders, Sirius steered him away from the fence. "Come on, let's go find the guesthouse."

Dropping his backpack onto the bed, Harry stared around the room. "Well, it's green, just like the name on the door." The guesthouse, Caliburnus, was nestled at the foot of the Tor and through the window Harry could see the Vale of Avalon spread out before him.

Sirius smirked as he surveyed the room. "Grace believes in colour therapy, so the rooms are all special colours - this is the Green Room ... hence the green."

"I know, but..." Harry held out his hands, gesturing about him. From the sheets on the bed to the colour of the walls, the room was completely furnished in shades of green. Even the pretty silk hangings on the walls were the same colour. "Green ... everywhere. I feel like I'm in some sort of nightmare where I've walked into Slytherin by mistake. I bet the bathroom's green as well." He opened the door to the bathroom and pulled a face. "Yep, even the towels are green."

"You'll survive. Besides, green is supposed to create a feeling of calmness and relaxation and soothe your emotions." Harry snorted in disbelief. "I see I'm going to have to get Grace to talk to you."

"How do you know her?"

"Ah, yes ... Amazing Grace." Sirius let out a wistful sigh. "I met her at the Glastonbury festival the year your parents married. Grace is a Muggle, but exceptionally well tuned into the magic in this area. I guess that's due to living all your life in the shadow of the Tor. We spent about six months together, and although I never told her that I'm a wizard, somehow she just knew. Anyway, things started to get more difficult, and I was worried about what might happen if Voldemort's Death Eaters found her, so we split up in the end. I carried on writing for a while, but then ... well..." Sirius gave a regretful shrug and he reached into his pocket, pulling out what looked like two toy suitcases. "I ended up in Azkaban and you know the rest." He tapped his wand on the cases and they quickly expanded to full size.

Harry grabbed at his case and pulled it to the floor. "Were you in love?"

"Hmmm -- love?" Sirius dropped back onto the bed. "Not sure about love ... there was definitely lust there, but as for love..." He shrugged. "Maybe."

For a moment Harry just watched his godfather as the older man stared at the green ceiling, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Things could have been so different if Voldemort hadn't turned up at Godric's Hollow on the fateful night Harry had lost his parents and Sirius had lost twelve years of his life. If that hadn't happened, he could have had a proper childhood with his parents, and Sirius could have been in love and lust with as many people as he wanted.

Instead, Harry had spent ten years living in a cupboard, unloved and unwanted, while Sirius had been imprisoned in Azkaban enduring Dementors and deprivation. Life, Harry decided, just wasn't fair. At least he'd had the last seven years back in the Wizarding world, but even that time had been tainted by his constant battle with Voldemort. No one ... not himself, not Sirius, not his friends and not even Draco ... would be safe until the Dark Lord was beaten once and for all.

Draco.

Harry's attention returned to the window and the blue sky he could see outside. He wondered for a moment what direction Malfoy Manor was in and what sort of birthday Draco was having. It had, Harry decided, been a strange and exhilarating three months since New Year. He frowned thoughtfully as he remembered telling Draco that he loved him, but was it love, or was it something else? He'd never loved anyone before, so how would he know the difference between love and lust? All he really knew was that he didn't want his relationship with Draco to end, that he missed Draco already and that he was worried he might never see Draco again. "How do you know, Sirius, whether it's love or lust?"

Sirius grinned. "Oh, you'll know when love hits you, Harry. Believe me, you'll know." He sat up quickly. "Come on. Grace is making lunch. You need to get your strength up if you're going to beat Padfoot up that hill."

**Afternoon ...**

**_... Malfoy Manor ..._**

This was not the party Draco had expected.

When his mother had talked about a party for his eighteenth birthday, he'd assumed it would be a lavish celebration with the Manor's ballroom lit by thousands of floating candles and full of dancing people. He expected his friends to be there, and he'd wanted to wear robes that made it clear _he_ was the centre of attention.

What he hadn't expected was an afternoon garden party with a guest list that read like a Who's Who of his parents' friends and acquaintances. Granted, it was the perfect afternoon for the gathering, the April sun just warm enough to be pleasant but not hot enough to be uncomfortable, but it wasn't so much a party for him as a social event for his parents.

Of course he realised that all the people his own age would still be at their respective schools, but he'd assumed some of them to get time off. Instead, he was surrounded by people as old as his parents and just a smattering of younger children, who were currently racing around the gardens and no doubt getting lost in the woodland surrounding the house.

He stood on the raised terrace overlooking the formal lawns and surveyed the crowd mingling together around the tables and chairs. The ladies looked like spring flowers in their array of colours while the men strutted around like peacocks. It had rained overnight, and he couldn't help wondering if his father had cast some arcane spell over the garden to ensure sunny weather.

As for his robes, the soft grey ones he'd designed were now hung in his wardrobe; there was no way they would be considered suitable for an afternoon gathering like this. Instead, he was dressed in formal robes he longed to shed for one of his light linen shirts ... something which didn't fasten tightly at his throat and allowed him to feel the breeze against his skin.

His lip twitched slightly as he remembered the one saving grace of the day; the Dark Lord hadn't turned up for the party, not even in the guise of David. So much for Harry's concerns about Draco's safety. He'd wondered briefly where Voldemort had gone, but had quickly decided such thoughts weren't helpful, and even if they were, he didn't want to consider them at the moment.

One of the guests on the lawn below waved up at him and Draco smiled, raising his glass as the woman raised her own in a toast. He had no idea who she was and tried to remember where he'd seen her before; no doubt at one of his mother's dinner parties where he had been paraded and cooed over by the women.

It wasn't that he was disappointed as such -- the pile of gifts waiting to be opened in the drawing room was probably enough compensation -- it was just that his mind kept drifting back to the party his friends had thrown for him in the Slytherin common room. That had been fun, and he was still amused by just how flirty a very drunk Milena could be and by Pansy's sassiness at daring to give him tacky underwear as a present.

And then there was Harry.

A warm glow suffused him as he remembered Harry's party. The afternoon under the cherry tree. The bath. The incredible feeling the protection magic had left him with. Waking up with Harry curled against him the following morning. Then hours of heart-stopping, incredible sex interspersed with moments of quiet peace that made the sex that followed even hotter and more passionate. Afterwards, before they'd gone their separate ways, he'd carefully charmed away the scratches and marks he'd left on Harry's skin. Harry had clung to him for a long time before doing the same thing, seeming to spend ages lingering over the skin just below Draco's left elbow, kissing and touching him there even though it wasn't marked at all.

Putting his now-empty glass down on the stone balustrade, Draco unconsciously reached into his left sleeve and scratched briefly at the area Harry had paid so much attention to. The thought that he might be missing Harry was quickly dismissed; that wasn't possible ... after all he'd seen the Gryffindor only yesterday. But, he reminded himself, he wouldn't be back at Hogwarts for nearly two weeks.

And he wanted Harry to be here so he could show the other boy round the Manor and take him to the places he had shared with his grandmother.

His eyes drifted to a path leading into the woods. It was probably overgrown now, but he was sure he could still find his way to the little bridge where he used to play 'poohsticks' with his grandmother. They would each find a suitable twig and, standing on the upstream side of the bridge, drop them in; the winner was the owner of the twig that first appeared on the other side of the bridge. Had Harry ever played that when he was little?

If he followed the path a little further, it would lead to a glade hidden from the house, which his grandmother would often take him to. She would bring a picnic basket and they would spend the afternoon playing games and reading stories. It was there he'd learned about Winnie the Pooh and other childhood favourites, and after she died those stories had been taken away from him.

When he'd started being taught the differences between pure-blood wizards and the rest.

With a frown, Draco realised for the first time that he would never be able to bring Harry to the Manor, unless he wanted Harry to be taken prisoner. He hadn't given much serious thought about what his father might do if he ever got his hands on Harry, but as much as Lucius could be indulgent towards Draco, bringing the Dark Lord's hated enemy into the family home as a friend would never be tolerated, especially not with Voldemort virtually in residence.

Draco shivered despite the warmth of the afternoon. He remembered how angry Lucius had been after he had failed to make friends with Harry back in their first year at Hogwarts, but there had always been a caveat to that anger -- the Malfoy family had to at least pretend to 'like' Harry; he was, after all, 'The Boy Who Lived' and looked on with misplaced reverence because of what had happened to him as a baby.

But then the Dark Lord had returned, and suddenly Harry was a Nonentity as far as Lucius was concerned ... _persona non grata_ ... the son of a Mudblood mother ... not even a proper wizard because of his tainted blood. Lucius had taken great delight in saying things like it was merely a lucky chance that had saved baby Potter from Voldemort and that it was only a matter of time before the irksome brat would be dealt with in the same way as his parents.

And now Draco was sleeping with the enemy.

That thought brought a quiet snort of derision. Wouldn't his father just love that ... the idea that his son had _finally_ managed to make friends as he was supposed to have done nearly seven years ago. Lucius might even approve of his methods if it led to the downfall of Voldemort's enemy. He could imagine the conversation.

_"Father, I have finally made Potter think he is my friend."_

_"Really, Draco? And how did you manage that?"_

_"I started fucking him."_

_"Good boy ... now invite him home, and we can hand him over to the Dark Lord."_

The trouble was it wasn't a lie; he finally was friends with Harry. In fact, Draco had a vague recollection of telling Harry that he loved him, and he'd thought he'd heard Harry say the same. He'd quickly put the declarations down to the magic Harry had been using, but deep inside him, Draco wondered if it was true. When he thought about Harry, it made him feel, well, strange ... like a bucket of liquid heat had been emptied over him ... and there was this bizarre desire to be with Harry and hold him and keep him safe.

Safe from people like his own beloved father.

And, of course, he was now lying to his father. He'd never done that before the chance meeting with Harry at New Year, and Draco wasn't sure just how long he could keep this charade up. Lucius _had_ to know. Lucius _had_ to be aware of the changes in his son. When Harry had been mentioned at dinner the previous evening, it had been hard to mould his face into the expected sneer and join in with the vilification of the Boy Who Lived.

He reached into his trouser pocket, pulling out a gold ring, engraved with a lion. Turning it into the light, he pursed his lips at the wording -- _Seeker _on the outside and _Gryffindor Quidditch Team -- 1997-1998_ on the inside. The ring had been a gift from David and all of the Hogwarts Quidditch players had received them; Draco's was silver with a snake winding its way around the band. It had worried him that Harry, of all people, should have something from the man Draco knew was Voldemort. So he'd caught up with Harry immediately after breakfast and dragged him into a cupboard where he'd asked the other boy to swap rings with him. His own ring might also have been a gift from David, but for some reason it didn't bother Draco so much. Harry had looked at him for a moment, the bewildered expression making Draco want to shag him right there and then. But finally Harry had shrugged and said, "Okay, if you want. But don't think I'm going around wearing a Slytherin ring. Ron would kill me." Then the Gryffindor had stared at him with green-eyed intensity and continued, "Don't you wear this one either, just look after it for me."

Draco twisted the ring absently round and round. Why would David send all the Quidditch team rings? They'd certainly gone down well with the team members, and during the day he kept hearing comments about how great David Morrello was and how a Minister of Sport was at last doing something for the kids. Some were even wondering how to get more information about the Quidditch scholarship programme. Just what would his schoolmates think if they knew who David really was? Would they so readily accept his gifts then?

He frowned. He'd found out David's true identity the previous summer, but just how many others knew that even amongst his followers? Did anyone here at this gathering know that Voldemort in the guise of David Morrello had finagled his way into the government and was even an advisor to that idiot Cornelius Fudge? No wonder Voldemort's army was doing so well down in the southwest. How long before Wiltshire fell under his spell as well?

What if that was Voldemort's game all along? Win them over with kindness and then when he had everyone on his side, tell them who he really was. Would they be happy to be ruled by this ostensibly benevolent man who, in reality, would control with the iron fist of a dictator? Draco knew the history of what it was like during the Terror of Voldemort's last reign, but that view was from those against him -- the winners. But he'd also learned the history from Voldemort's point of view and had grown up with stories of the great things the Dark Lord and his followers had done for the Wizarding world. Hadn't his father told him more than once that the winners always wrote the history? That the books conveniently omitted the great things Voldemort had done in favour of their stories of the Boy Who Lived?

The ring slipped onto the tip of his little finger and Draco stared at it for a moment. He felt a tingle of magic play through him and suddenly putting the ring on didn't seem to be such a bad idea. Why shouldn't he try it ... just to see if it fitted? It couldn't really do any harm even if it was a gift from David. He slid it down to his first knuckle. Didn't David have everyone's best interests at heart?

"Draco."

Draco spun at the sound of his name, recognising his mother's voice instantly. The ring fell to the ground with a clatter against the stone as it bounded a few feet away. He stared as it came to rest in front of a pair of small feet with trim ankles, and watched as a hand reached down to pick it up. Eyes fixed on the hand, he followed it as its owner straightened and held out the hand towards him.

"I think you dropped this."

This voice wasn't his mother's, and Draco's eyes flicked from the extended hand to the person who had spoken to him. He was met by a cascade of black hair and piercing green eyes, and it was all he could do not to gasp out loud.

It was Harry. Harry if he'd been a girl. His mother's hand was resting on the girl's shoulder as if they were the best of friends. Draco suddenly realised he was staring at her, mouth slightly open, and he quickly looked away to meet his mother's pale eyes.

"Draco, this is Gwladus. We didn't think she was going to be able to get here so, rather than disappoint you, your father and I decided to keep her visit a surprise."

Draco reached blindly for the girl's still outstretched hand, scrabbling for the ring, which he shoved back into his pocket. When he looked back at her again, any shock or disbelief had been removed from his face, replaced, he hoped, by a look of pleasant wonder, and the hand he thrust out was steady. "I'm glad you managed to get here. Mother has been telling me all about you."

The hand that took his had a sure grip as she smiled at him. "All good I hope."

"Of course." Narcissa gripped briefly at the two teenagers' shoulders. "Now, Draco, Gwladus only has a couple of hours before she has to return to Durmstrang, so I want you to introduce her to our friends." She patted her son's shoulder. "And show her some of the Manor. After all, it will be her home soon." With that Narcissa walked away, seeming to float along the terrace.

For a moment the two looked at each other still holding hands, and it was Gwladus who finally pulled away. "It's Gwen."

"Sorry?"

"Gwladus is a bit of a mouthful. My family call me Gwen ... except when they're angry with me."

Aware suddenly of the feeling of awkwardness radiating from the girl, Draco gave a proper friendly smile. Now that he looked more closely, he could see she had the colouring of her Welsh heritage; that her hair was actually dark auburn rather than black, and while her eyes were green, they were closer to turquoise. But there was still something about her that reminded him of Harry, and he briefly wondered if the Potters and the Llewelyns were connected. "What do they call you when they're angry?"

"I'm sure you'll find out soon enough, but I'd rather keep some secrets for the moment." She gave a hesitant smile. "Should we mingle? Your mother seemed to want us to."

**_... Glastonbury ..._**

They had left Caliburnus in the early afternoon and it had taken Harry nearly three hours to finally complete the labyrinth around the Tor. The path switched back and forth, and with each footstep he felt sure he could feel the Earth Magic slowly building beneath his feet. The energy seeped up through the grass and into his body buoying him up in his journey. Sirius had turned into Padfoot before they set out, and Harry watched as the large black dog raced around the hillside with boundless energy and probably covering twice the distance Harry had walked. There was something very satisfying about watching Padfoot enjoying his freedom, and Harry wondered what it had been like when all four of the Marauders had changed into their animal forms. Had they caused chaos around Hogwarts and the surrounding countryside? Had anyone else realised just who they all were?

And he wondered what it would be like to have that freedom ... to become an animal with no worries about what expectations other people had of you and not to experience the disappointment when those expectations weren't met. He remembered briefly how pampered Mrs Figg's cats were. Maybe in his next life he'd return as a cat, spending all his life lazing in the sun while someone saw to his every need. But then again, Harry snorted dismissively, he'd probably end up living next door to someone like Dudley, who had spent most of his formative years tormenting those very same cats.

Finally accomplishing the climb, Harry collapsed onto the grass on the sunny side of the hill, sheltered a little from the breeze blowing around the tower and out of sight of most of the other tourists. He was just getting his breath back when Padfoot dived at him, large paws knocking the breath out of him. The large dog rolled over on the grass before staring up at Harry with huge, almost black eyes.

Harry grinned as he reached out to ruffle the shaggy head. "Okay, so you won." Padfoot gave a single low woof. "And now you want me to cast a distraction spell so you can change back without all these people noticing." Harry raised a hand, waving it in the general direction of the dozen or so tourists wandering around the tower. Another woof. "Maybe I'll just leave you like that for the rest of the afternoon. After all, I'm not supposed to do magic outside of school." The dog was on Harry again and, struggling playfully with the creature, he finally gave in. "Okay, okay." Without bothering with his wand, Harry took a breath as he reached for his link with the energy around him and whispered the spell. The area seemed to pulse with magic, and the few people who had been looking around where he and Sirius sat moved away.

Sirius quickly changed back from his Animagus form and joined his godson, lounging in the afternoon sunshine. "You're getting pretty good at that, considering it's only been six weeks or so since we first started."

"Magic without a wand?" Harry glanced briefly at the older man. Being out here with Sirius in a place where no one knew or cared who he might be was intoxicating and he was feeling happy and more relaxed than he'd felt in months. Sirius was like an elder brother rather than someone old enough to be his father, and Harry found himself comfortable in his company. Here, lying on the grassy side of the Tor, all that was important was the sun and its warmth and the sensation of magic tickling at his skin.

"Mmm."

Harry shrugged. "The energy here is so strong; it's like I could cut you a slice of it. Which way is Avebury?"

"Avebury?" Sirius plucked a blade of grass. "You should be able to feel the energy lines."

"Okay." Harry lay back on the grass, his hands weaving into the blades as he closed his eyes. Frowning, he finally turned onto his front as if to hug the ground beneath him. "The energy's all over the place." He looked up at Sirius. "I can sense it, but I have no idea where any of it's going."

"It'll come, just relax into it." Sirius chewed on the blade.

Harry gave a snort as he rolled back onto his side. "So says the man who admitted to knowing nothing about any of this."

"I'll have you know people think I'm an expert on many, many things." He grinned at Harry. "Earth Magic just isn't one of them."

"So what are you doing here with me, then?"

"I'm spending quality time with my godson, and we just might manage to have you sort out those energy lines before nightfall, if we're lucky."

The two lay side-by-side in companionable silence, and Harry found himself watching the clouds as they floated across the otherwise blue sky. It reminded him a little of the journey he'd taken with the Boy at the pool in the Forbidden Forest. The Boy had taken on Draco's form and explained he was the manifestation of Earth Magic and was asking for Harry's help in healing the land of Tom Riddle's contaminated magic. As he'd explained to Harry how Voldemort's corruption had spread, he'd used other forms -- Hermione, James and Lily. Hermione had shown him the way the energy lines criss-crossed the countryside. Lily had shown him how to heal one of the areas of Darkness, and James...

His father had shown him the Burrow and how Riddle's Darkness was slowly encroaching on the place Harry had spent many happy times since finding out he was a wizard. But all that happiness had been taken from that loving family's home the previous summer when a group of Death Eaters had attacked.

Harry's fingers tangled into the grass again and suddenly he realised he could sense the Burrow and the magic flowing around it. He gasped quietly at the sensation, not wanting to break the link but scared of it at the same time. Closing his eyes, an image flowed into his mind, first of the Burrow the last time he'd seen it in person, and then as it was now ... dead, with broken windows and peeling paint. If he concentrated hard, he could sense the Darkness as it flowed. When the image of his father had taken him to the Burrow, the Dark Magic had overcome only part of it, but now the whole building had been inundated.

"Harry? Are you okay?"

He felt Sirius' hand touch his arm. "Yes ... I ... yes." He opened his eyes and even though he was on the hillside, he was still very aware of what he sensed at the Burrow. "I was just thinking about last summer and staying at the Burrow, and suddenly I felt the link to it."

"Really?"

Harry nodded and let go of the grass in the hope that it would break the link. When it didn't, he almost panicked, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought he heard a voice telling him to relax ... that if he did, he could turn off the connection. He listened, relieved when the sensation of the magic finally dissipated, but the aftereffects of the Dark Magic flowed over him like a cold, viscous liquid; it chilled him to the bone. Quickly reaching for his backpack, he rummaged for his sweatshirt and pulled it on, rubbing vigorously at his arms. "Really. It was..." He shivered. "I was thinking about the Burrow and suddenly I was there ... well, not _there,_ I was still _here,_ but I could see it, like watching a film in my head. And it _felt_ like I was there rather than here."

"And now?"

"Well, I'm back here now and cold as hell. The whole place seems to be full of Dark Magic, Sirius. It was horrible." Harry shivered again despite the fact he was beginning to feel warmer.

Sirius gave a shrug. "It is, Harry. I've been back there a couple of times since the Weasleys moved out. Molly and Arthur couldn't stay there after what happened, and the Aurors haven't been able to cleanse the area."

Harry flopped back onto the grass, his mouth pressed in a thin hard line. "It's my fault."

"Of course it isn't." Sirius rolled onto his side, staring hard at his godson.

"It is ... if I hadn't..." Harry paused, the conversation stirring memories that destroyed the tranquillity he'd felt only a short while ago.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really." He looked at his godfather. The concern on the older man's face was only too visible, and the need to finally tell someone what had happened overcame the need to keep it secret. "But okay." With an audible sigh he returned his gaze to the clouds, unable to meet Sirius' eyes as he talked.

"It started when I got back to Kings Cross last July for the summer holiday and Uncle Vernon wasn't there to meet me. I said goodbye to everyone, but Hermione's parents wouldn't leave even though I told them I was okay and that they were probably held up in the traffic." Harry frowned at the memory. "In the end I was just beginning to wonder how I'd get home and whether I dared use magic, when Mr Granger said he'd take me."

"That was good of him."

"He's nice ... so is Hermione's mum. When we got to Privet Drive ... where the Dursleys live..."

"I know; I went there once, remember ... that night you caught the Knight Bus."

Harry turned his head, just enough to meet Sirius' dark blue eyes. "How can I forget? You gave me a fright that night."

"Sorry. I never meant to scare you. I was going to change back and try to talk to you, but by the time I'd done that, you were already on the Bus."

"If I'd known who you were..." Harry turned back to the clouds; sure that he could see a large dog in one of them. "No one had ever told me I had a godfather before then." Sirius' hand lightly touched his arm and Harry turned back again, knowing that his own eyes mirrored the sadness he could see on the man's face. "Anyway, we got to Privet Drive and found out they'd all gone away on some cruise Aunt Petunia had won ... they'd left a note with the next-door neighbour. They'd even taken the spare door key hidden under a stone in the back garden so I couldn't get in even if I'd wanted to. I was just considering breaking in when Mr Granger insisted I go back home with them. We sent Hedwig with a note to Professor Dumbledore so he'd know where I was."

"Did Albus let you stay?"

Harry nodded. "I got to stay there until my birthday ... nearly a whole month. The Grangers made me so welcome and even though Hermione made me do my homework, we had a great time. Ron and Ginny came over for my birthday, and then I went to stay at the Burrow.

"I'd been there for about a week when Ron and I ended up on our own one day. Ginny had stayed with Hermione, and Mr and Mrs Weasley had gone to London. The weather was awful ... really wet ... and we were inside playing chess when I thought I heard something. Ron told me not to be silly and that it was probably just the ghoul in the attic, but you know what it's like when you think something is wrong ... you feel the hairs on the back of your neck rise and feel like you're being watched."

Sirius nodded. "I know the feeling."

"The air in the room sort of shifted. I hadn't realised at the time what caused it, but now I know it's what happens when you've got the counter-spells for wards and Apparate through them. Suddenly there were two Death Eaters in the sitting room ... I could see them through the kitchen door. Ron had his back to the door so I grabbed at him and tried to pull him out of sight in the hope they wouldn't see us there in the kitchen. When he realised what was going on, he stopped complaining and just let me drag him towards the door leading out into the garden. You know, Sirius, Ron was really calm about the whole thing ... two Death Eaters had Apparated into his house, and he didn't look scared at all."

"Ron's a brave boy."

"I know he is ... he's risked his life for me more than once, and he really held it together this time. We managed to get outside only to find that there were more Death Eaters in the garden. I had my wand with me, but Ron had left his on the kitchen table. For a minute I thought about Accio-ing my Invisibility Cloak, but we'd been out on our brooms earlier, and they were both still by the door. Ron didn't think it was a good idea, but I thought we could fly away." Harry sighed. "As it turned out, Ron was right ... it was a stupid idea. We both kicked off into the air, and it looked like we were going to get away when one of the Death Eaters fired off a curse aimed at me. I dived out of the way, but hadn't realised Ron was in the line of fire, and the curse hit him instead."

"And that's when he came off his broom?"

Harry nodded. "I tried to catch him, but it was raining, and he slipped from my arms and landed on his leg. I swear, Sirius, I could hear his bones shatter as he hit the ground. By then, one of the Death Eaters was almost on us. I was holding Ron, wondering how I could get him away. The rain got heavier, and there was thunder and lightning crashing all around. The Death Eater stopped about ten feet away, pointed his wand, and I just knew he was going to cast a killing curse."

"How?"

"I don't know really. I just did. Now that I know about Earth Magic, I think I could feel him drawing on the energy." He looked across at Sirius. "Remember when you made me build that protective barrier, well, I think I might have done the same thing then in front of myself and Ron, but it happened without me even thinking about it ... it was just there. I heard the man say the killing curse ... and I remember the green light crackling around us, and then it was like I'd deflected it back off of the barrier at him. It hit him square on the chest, and he dropped liked a stone. I felt him die, Sirius ... I killed him."

**_... Malfoy Manor ..._**

They mingled, and Draco graciously accepted the congratulatory remarks from his guests. He showed Gwen the elegant ballroom and the library, but somehow they ended up following the surprisingly clear path to the bridge over the small stream.

"It's beautiful." She stood in the centre of the bridge, turning in a small circle. "This is so different from my home."

"What's it like?" Draco bent down, picking up a small twig.

"Oh, it's on a headland overlooking the sea. Very wild and very dangerous." Her voice had a lilt that Draco found very pleasant and easy to listen to, and he wondered for a moment if she could sing. "I think you'd like it."

He dropped the twig into the stream, trying to stroll nonchalantly over to the other side of the bridge to watch it float out. All afternoon they'd both steered carefully away from the fact their respective parents wanted them to marry, and now they were talking about homes. "I like the sea."

"Good. Have you decided what you want to do when you finish school?"

"No." He shrugged. Once he'd assumed he would work with his father, then Harry had come along and thrown everything into chaos. Now he had the awful feeling his prospective father-in-law expected him to join the family business. "I was thinking of trying out for a few Quidditch teams." It was, of course, a lie. "Look, Gwen, I know this is difficult, and we don't even know each other..."

"I know." She was nodding in agreement. "We can start writing ... get to know one another."

"Yes, it's just that..." Draco paused. Just what? Just that he was seeing someone else? That while she might be a pretty and intelligent girl with a sharp wit, he didn't want to marry her? "Yes," he finally said, "we could write."

She looked away as if composing herself and eventually looked back. "I'll have to go soon. I've got a practical test later."

"Our exams don't take place until June."

Gwen nodded. "Most of ours aren't until then. Just some of the practicals take place now. Oh, I almost forgot, I have a gift for you." She reached into her pocket. "Well, it's from the family really."

"Thanks." Draco took the small silver wrapped box and quickly opened it. Inside was a pair of Welsh dragon cufflinks. He took one out, watching the gold glint in the sun.

"The gold comes from the family mines, and the eyes are made of Bluestone."

"Very nice. Thanks," he repeated as he suddenly realised he had no idea when Gwen's birthday was and even if she was older or younger than he was. After a moment's hesitation, he leaned forward and gave her a brotherly kiss on the cheek.

She smiled bashfully, her cheeks flushing. Then suddenly she bent down, picked up a twig and gestured at the river. "Would you like a race before we go back?"

**_... Glastonbury ..._**

Sirius watched Harry for what seemed like forever. The boy had stilled completely, his glasses in one hand while his other arm was thrown across his face as though shielding his eyes from the sun. He wondered for a moment whether Harry was crying, but his stillness belied the fact. Then he saw a single tear track down the boy's cheek.

"You didn't kill him, Harry," Sirius whispered, his face close to Harry's but not touching him. "The Death Eater cast the curse, not you."

"I directed it back at him." The emotion in Harry's voice was raw, and Sirius winced at the sound. "I felt the moment the life was squeezed out of him. I could have directed the curse anywhere, but I sent it back to him and killed him." Harry finally removed his arm and turned watery eyes towards his godfather. "It was horrible, Sirius. One second he was alive, and the next he was dead, and I felt the split second his life ended. Sometimes I think I can still feel it now ... that it will be with me forever."

"That's why it's an Unforgivable, Harry."

"I never want to have to feel that again." Harry swallowed, throat working, as he tried to control his tears. "How can people use it if that's what happens every time?"

Sirius gave a shrug remembering, only too well the first time he'd used the Unforgivable. He understood what Harry was saying, but the sensation attached to the curse clearly hadn't been as strong as it had for Harry. He'd used it twice more in the months leading up to James and Lily's deaths, and each time it seemed to get easier. Or maybe he was so angry -- so full of hate for what the Death Eaters had done to their Muggle captives -- that he'd _wanted_ to kill them. He'd learned that while training to be an Auror -- you had to want to use the curses to make them work really well.

But it did surprise him to hear that the Death Eater had been killed by a deflected curse. He'd seen the Auror's report which had attributed the killing curse to 'person or persons unknown'. The curse had been cast by the man's own wand, which had still been clasped in his dead hand when the Auror team had Apparated to the Burrow within moments of the Avada Kedavra having been uttered. Suddenly what had happened when Harry had been a baby made sense; Lily's sacrifice had been more than the strong magic of a mother's love. It had awakened her son's unique connection to Earth Magic, and that had allowed him to shield himself from Voldemort's curse. Even as an infant, Harry had deflected it, unintentionally, back at the person who had tried to kill him, who had only survived because of his own link to the same source of magic.

A knot of fear began to tighten in Sirius' stomach. He'd always known Harry was a powerful wizard, but this magic might be stronger than even Albus had imagined. A hard smile tugged at the corner of his mouth -- no, unfortunately for Harry, Albus always knew exactly what he was doing.

"Harry, it's hurting you so much because basically you're a good person. Mix the curse with Dark Magic and people start to lose their humanity. They stop caring about what they do."

"But if there's a war ... if we have to fight and ... and kill people..."

"Then you'll do what you have to do, just like your father did, and I did, and lots of other people as well."

"I don't know if I can, not again." Harry turned away, staring off into the distance. "When I got back to school, I could hear people talking about how I'd saved Ron, but they didn't know what had really happened and I hated the thought of them finding out. The Minister decided he didn't want people to know that there had been a Death Eater attack -- you know what Fudge is like, still pretending Voldemort isn't really a problem. So the story was that Ron was injured in a flying accident, but there were whispers about what really happened, especially when the Weasleys moved out of the Burrow. Can you imagine what people would say if they found out ... Harry Potter, the Boy Who Murdered. So I didn't tell anyone. I--" Harry paused. "What if I deflected a curse, even a simple one, back at someone again and they got injured? What if I killed someone?"

Sirius reached for his godson's shoulder, pulling him gently to face him. "Is that why you've taken to spending so much time on your own?"

Harry nodded. "It makes me feel safer." He gave a sad little smile. "Plus my marks have improved because I'm studying more. I might actually pass my N.E.W.Ts after all. It's just that when I'm on my own no one expects anything of me. I mean, I don't want to be on my own _all _the time, but sometimes it's nice..." A little shrug. "Just to be out of Hogwarts and away from the expectations of everyone else."

"I know. My parents had high expectations for me, which I never lived up to." Sirius knew his expression was grim. It was an expression he reserved specifically for talk of his parents ... pure-blood wizards who had never forgiven him for what they saw as his perfidious defection. He'd run away from home just after his sixteenth birthday and had lived with the Potters until he was old enough to get a place of his own.

"Are they still alive ... your parents?"

"No, my father died during the war and mother died about twelve years ago. She never forgave me and left word that I wasn't to attend her funeral. Considering I was in Azkaban, the chances of me getting there were pretty remote anyway." The sarcasm in his tone was only too apparent. "And considering they thought I'd killed all those Muggles, betrayed your parents and was You-Know-Who's right-hand man, I can't but laugh at the irony of it all. Her last words to me when I left were that I was a blood traitor, yet there I was locked up for being one of _his_ followers." He gave a huff, silencing any further questions from Harry with a look. "Anyway, I don't want to talk about them ... at least not now."

"Okay, but I'm going to remember this -- I want to know more." Harry had turned onto his side again, head resting on his upturned hand. "After the curse got deflected back, I think I must have Apparated out of the immediate area, taking Ron with me."

"You Apparated with someone else?" Sirius couldn't hide his surprise. Apparating on your own was advanced magic, which was why children weren't allowed to attempt it, but to take someone else with you? It was something he wouldn't attempt unless it was a dire emergency.

"Well, I don't know. One minute I was in the garden and the next behind a hedge a couple of fields away. At least that's where the Aurors found us. They took Ron to hospital and me back to the house where they questioned me for what seemed like hours ... it only stopped when you turned up with Professor Dumbledore."

Sirius nodded. He'd been with the headmaster when word of the attack had reached Albus and nothing in the world would have prevented Sirius from accompanying him. Harry had been in the Burrow kitchen, all colour drained from his face, hands held tightly in his lap as if to stop them shaking. His godson had been surrounded by what looked to be almost every Auror from the Ministry.

"And the rest you know. I was sent back to the Dursleys afterwards and stayed there the rest of the summer. Ron ended up in hospital for the rest of the holiday and missed the first two weeks of school. They were worried at first that they might not be able to repair the damage to his leg, but in the end he was okay ... except for the limp." Harry paused, frowning a little. "And I think that's getting better. He's worried the injury might stop him from being picked for Auror school."

"Is that what he wants to do?"

"That -- or play for Chudley Cannons." Harry smiled. "He thinks he's going to be their secret weapon."

"What about you, Harry? Auror or professional Quidditch player?"

"I don't think I'm going to get the chance to be either; at least not until after the war." Harry gave a deep sigh. "It's coming isn't it? The war."

Sirius nodded. "It's already here, Harry. Not an out-and-out fight, but he's taking over by stealth. His followers mutter things in public about how Muggles are going to destroy our world and that the only way to stop them is to cut our world off from theirs. There's a Bill before Parliament at the moment that will prevent magical people trading with Muggles unless they apply for licences first."

"Sirius." Harry suddenly sat up. "You didn't really bring me here just to play with the ley lines did you? What's the real reason we're here?"

**_... Malfoy Manor ..._**

The drawing room was awash with discarded tissue paper and wrappings, which the house-elves were desperate to start clearing up. Draco would occasionally stare hard at one as it made a tentative reach for a piece of the paper, and he was pleased to see the creature back away. The head elf, Bobbin, was busily collecting gift tags and writing a list of gifts and who had sent them.

The last guests from the garden party had left about an hour before and Draco was finally able to relax a little. He'd changed out of the straitjacket robes into something more comfortable and was now with his parents working his way through the vast heap of birthday presents.

As well as the new broom, his father had presented him with his own personal coat of arms and monogram during the party. It was based on the Malfoy crest, but with the addition of a dragon motif. Being the owner of Gwen's Welsh Dragon cufflinks, Draco now realised the dragon was based on that particular dragon. It was certainly not the Chinese dragon Harry had drawn on his arm.

It didn't take him long to realise that the gifts were generally 'useful' items and most had his new monogram on them. He had never seen so much crystal or silver in his life, not to mention enough linen to stock a house of his own.

Of course, there were things he liked, such as a small silver flask, which he was already planning on taking back to school filled with his father's favourite brandy, and the interesting looking bottle of pear wine. There was also an antique knife with a carved ivory handle and the most exquisitely crafted measuring kit for potions making. Then there were things he would have to be circumspect with -- ancient texts and expensive potions ingredients to start his own storeroom, some of which were barely legal.

He wasn't quite sure about the family portrait of himself and his parents. It certainly wasn't something he wanted in his own rooms at the moment. Nor could he think of anyplace he'd want to hang the tapestry showing Voldemort surrounded by his loyal Death Eaters subduing the Muggle masses anywhere at all. As for the rather hefty 'Magical Mansions of Wiltshire', that seemed like a wonderful way of dealing with insomnia. He also wasn't particularly enamoured with a set of ostentatious silver goblets with a serpent and dragon winding around the stems or the goblet with dragons' claws ... _real _dragons' claws ... at the base.

Something else he did intend taking back to school was a wonderful snow globe. This one didn't just have falling snow; each time he shook it there would be something different falling. Earlier the two little figures inside had been deluged by rain, and this time there were droplets of fire raining down as the figures ran desperately around the interior trying to get away.

As he finished unwrapping the last present (a new wax seal for his letters), he smiled up at his parents who were both looking indulgently at him. "It's going to take me the rest of my holiday to write the thank you letters."

Lucius smiled. "I think it's time we moved you into the south wing ... a space of your own. You'll want your own household once you're married. Your mother has already picked out two house-elves for you." He glanced across at Narcissa, then back at his son. "And we have one more gift for you to complete your day."

Draco's attention piqued, and his eyebrow arched in question. "Oh?"

"Yes, you'll find out what it is later, and we will have a small supper party this evening as well. Your mother has already laid out your clothes for the event."

**_... Glastonbury ..._**

Sirius had known that sooner or later he would have to tell his godson why they were both on the side of a wind-swept hill. It had been so nice up to that point -- talking to Harry, just being there. He even thought he could pretend that there wasn't an ulterior motive to their visit, that this really was just a pleasant trip. As he watched the dark-haired boy at his side, green eyes questioning, he couldn't help but think of Harry's parents. Harry probably got fed up of being told just how much he looked like James or how his eyes reminded people of Lily, but sometimes it was hard to remember that he wasn't with James ... that this boy _wasn't_ his childhood friend. He was grateful for the green eyes really; at least when he saw them, he would remember just who the boy was. And just what other people expected of a person who didn't look strong enough to protect himself, let alone wizarding-kind.

Albus should have told Harry what was going on, he quickly decided. It wasn't his role to coach the boy in magic that he didn't understand and which, if he were honest, Sirius knew scared him.

He stared for a moment at the blade of grass, which he'd been wrapping round and round his fingers. It had almost disintegrated, and he quickly tossed it to one side. "You're right; I didn't bring you here just so we could have a friendly little chat. It's You-Know-Who, Harry."

Rolling onto his back, Harry groaned, his arm coming up to shield his eyes from the sun. "It's _always_ Voldemort." There was no anger or recrimination in the boy's tone, just unhappy acceptance. He raised his arm enough for Sirius to see green eyes glinting dangerously. "And if you don't call him by his name, I'm not having this conversation with you."

"Okay." Sirius gave an inner shudder. He didn't mind using the Dark Lord's name normally, but at the moment he would rather not use it at all. If he didn't say the name, he could pretend this wasn't real. "Remember about the Hallows Capstone being stolen from Parliament?" Harry nodded. "No one really knew why Voldemort might have pulled off such an audacious raid, but one of Albus' spies found out the reason. Voldemort is planning to use the stone to open up one of the energy points. If he succeeds, he'll finally be able to tap into Earth Magic. If he does that, he'll be virtually invincible, and he'll have the power to get exactly what he's been trying to achieve all these years -- immortality."

**Evening ...**

**_... Malfoy Manor ..._**

Draco wasn't quite sure why he'd brought Harry's birthday gifts home with him; after all, he couldn't show them to anyone. That, in itself, didn't worry him. He actually liked the idea that the gifts didn't have to be shared with anyone else. When he took things like the snow globe back to school, everyone would want to have a go with it, and the last thing he wanted was for his friends to paw at either the stuffed toy lion or the little box.

And just imagine if one of them managed to open the box when he'd spent hours without succeeding?

Sitting on the edge of his bed, he once again fiddled with the box, shaking it gently. He frowned as whatever was inside rattled. Harry had offered more than once to tell him how to open the box, but Draco had refused to give in with a characteristic raise of his chin. A Muggle box was not going to get the better of him, and he was determined to solve this puzzle himself.

He looked up as the door to his room opened and his father strode in. Almost without thinking, his free hand went down to the lion by his hip and he shoved it out of sight under the covers, but it was too late to do anything with the box.

Lucius smiled as he crossed the large room. He was dressed in surprisingly simple deep red robes and folded over one arm was what Draco assumed was another set in the same colour. "Are you ready?" The robes were laid carefully on the bed.

Draco nodded and, as he came to his feet, he put the box down in what he hoped was a casual manner. "Yes, father." He pulled at the hem of the cream-coloured sleeveless tunic he was wearing, trying not to fiddle or look worried as Lucius picked up the box.

"Another gift?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Who is it from?"

"From someone at school." Draco shrugged. "Pansy ... Pansy Parkinson. You remember her." The lie flowed easily and, he hoped, smoothly.

"Ah yes ... the Parkinsons." Lucius handed the box back. "Nice family. It's a shame her family blood is tainted -- she would have made a good catch otherwise." He briefly clasped his son's shoulder. "I'm very proud of you, Draco, always remember that."

Draco smiled as his father reached for the robes and held them up. "You know I always try to do my best, father." He pulled on the plain garment, smoothing a hand down the front. It had wide sleeves and, unlike his father's, there was no clasp.

"You do and now it's time." Lucius straightened the collar line of his son's robes.

"Time?"

"For you to pledge yourself to the Order and take the Mark."

"What? I..." The words were almost inaudible as Draco froze to the spot. He felt like someone had tipped a bucket of ice-cold water over him. "No ... father ... I'm not..."

Lucius squeezed both of Draco's shoulders, the touch a cross between reassurance and finality. "Of course, you're worried; I was at my initiation. But this is your moment, Draco, _your_ time. You are the generation who will follow on, and you will be one of the leaders."

Harry's words and fears spiralled through him, and Draco tried to step away, but the grip on his shoulders was too strong. "No..."

"And you are to be so honoured, Draco. Lord Voldemort saved you when you were a baby for this moment. Don't let yourself down. Don't let _me_ down."

With that Lucius reached into his pocket and took out a tiny pin, which he quickly fixed to Draco's robes. "This is from him -- from your Lord -- and it will take you to him."

Later ... much later ... Draco would realise the pin had been decorated with a skull which had a snake coming from its mouth -- Morsmordre. But at that moment, he had no chance to take anything in. As his father pressed his hand against the pin, Draco felt himself surrounded by magic. He tried to talk, to say something to stop what was happening, but instead he felt the room around him evaporating into blackness.

**_... Glastonbury ..._**

"Welcome back, Harry, I'm pleased to see you again."

Harry's eyes snapped up at the familiar voice, expecting for a moment to see Draco, but he knew instantly that the person standing a few feet away from him wasn't his lover. He had once again taken Snape's potion and after a few moments had found himself in a world where everything seemed to be carved out of ice and frozen in a moment in time. The only things coloured in this world were himself and the newcomer ... the Boy whom he had first met just over two weeks ago when Sirius had taken him to an enchanted pool in the Forbidden Forest. Back then it had chosen to appear to him as Draco, and it had chosen to use that same persona this time.

His gaze finally came to rest on the two figures that were part of that frozen, icy tableau -- his godfather and himself. Sirius was sitting on the hillside of the Tor while Harry lay stretched out on the grass beside him. The two figures were holding hands as they had done on that first occasion Harry had connected with the Earth Magic. He had used the potion three more times since that first occasion and each time had connected with the Magic, but the Boy had only shown himself on that first occasion.

"Harry?"

He looked up again. "Sorry, it's just so ... strange ... me being here with you while I'm still there in the other world. It's like..."

"Magic?" The Boy smirked, the expression so like Draco it made Harry tremble a little.

"Yeah." He smiled. "I didn't expect you to be here."

"Why not?"

"Well, you only came that once ... the first time."

"I said I would always be here to help when you needed me. Those other times you were fine on your own, but this time is different. This time it's important." The Boy paused, glancing over his shoulder as if looking at something in the distance. "Do you feel it, Harry?"

Harry nodded as he took a step towards the Boy and followed his gaze. He _could_ feel it; something was interfering with the Magic around him. "It's like ... like something has just ... died." The Boy nodded, and Harry let out a hiss as his scar gave a twinge of pain. "It's Voldemort." Another nod. For a moment the two stood next to each other, staring at something they couldn't see but which both could feel. "Sirius told me Voldemort was going to do a ritual -- something that will link him to Earth Magic."

"Yes, Tom Riddle has waited for seventeen years for this moment, for the planets to be aligned perfectly, and for his Key to come of age."

"What do I have to do?"

"Simple, Harry. Ride the Magic when the power point is opened, and close it down before Riddle manages to link himself to it." The Boy's lip quirked in a half smile.

"Oh, just that." Harry matched the look. "And how can I do it?"

"The same way you managed to overcome the areas of Darkness ... you are tuned to the Magic. But this time you won't have the luxury of taking as long as you want. The Key will unlock the Magic, and you must wait until the moment Riddle steps into it before locking the power point again."

"Why can't I just shut it down at once?"

"Because that way Riddle can try again. All he needs is his Key, and the right planetary alignment. But once he has stepped into the Magic, you can lock him from using that point forever."

"Couldn't he use one of the other points ... like this one here at Glastonbury or the one at Hogwarts?"

"Of course, but first he has to find the right Key, and there is only one Key alive for each."

"And if I don't manage to close it in time?"

"Then he will succeed, and he will have all the things he's craved since he first realised he had inherited a connection to Earth Magic. He will be able to access all the power he has ever wanted, and with that power he will attain a real body instead of the shell he's worn since he was resurrected three years ago. And in that body, he will have as close to immortality as a human can know because it will age very slowly." The Boy sighed. "Once he has that power, I am not sure I will be able to hold back the tide of Darkness any longer."

Harry looked quickly at the Boy and, for the first time, realised he didn't look solid any longer. The Boy looked a little hazy and indistinct around the edges, and Harry was reminded of Tom Riddle in the Chamber of Secrets. "But..."

"If he succeeds in this, he will be able to bend the Magic to his will."

Harry felt his mouth go suddenly dry and fear blossomed deep inside. It was one thing to take on Voldemort, but this was different. If he failed this time, the consequences didn't bear thinking about. It had sounded so easy when Sirius had told him of Voldemort's plans -- just put up a block to stop the Dark Lord accessing the Magic -- but now...

"What if I can't...?" His voice cracked.

"Stop him?" The Boy raised a questioning eyebrow, and Harry gave a single nod. "Have faith, Harry."

With that the Boy reached for his hand and Harry felt Magic surge around him.

**_... Malfoy Manor ..._**

Cloud bounced on the balls of his feet, nervous excitement fuelling the adrenalin surge flooding through him. He was desperate to wipe away the thin film of sweat from his upper lip and forehead, but that would mean removing his mask; somehow the thought of doing that out here surrounded by his fellow Death Eaters chilled the moisture. He didn't want to show any fear, especially not at his first ever gathering, and especially not here in front of David.

The mask stopped him from looking to his left or right without turning his head, so instead he just looked forward, eyes wide as he recognised the large circular stone in the centre of the gathering. It was the Hallows Capstone, which he remembered seeing as a child on a visit to the Parliament at Stonehenge. The energy seemed to roll off it in waves, and he was sure it was making him feel all tingly ... like the static in the air just after a lightning strike. He just wished Shadow were here, in the circle, to experience it close up.

He knew Shadow was watching from the raised terrace, and finally he looked round, the movement making him feel a little light-headed; he wondered what had been in the wine he'd drunk much too quickly earlier. He'd been shocked that his mentor wasn't to be part of the circle, and Shadow's response was a quick barking laugh. "Do you think he'd let me," Shadow had responded as though talking to a child, "one who isn't pure-blood, stand with his elite? No, I will watch from here." He thought he could make out the man in the dusky light, but the circle of robed and masked figures was surrounded by an outer circle of flickering torches that made the house and the surrounding countryside fade into a false darkness.

As he tried to make out his mentor, Cloud felt everyone in the circle tense. He turned back just as each person dropped to their knees and, as he joined them, he felt the energy flowing from the Hallows change. It sparked and fluctuated as a robed figure appeared on the stone and even though a hood shrouded the newcomer's face, he knew who it was.

David.

Fingers clutching at the grass, Cloud knew he shouldn't look. Shadow had told him he should keep his head bowed until their master gave permission to rise, but he had to see his Dark Lord.

The magical energy cast the Hallows in an eerie white light, which reflected off the white robes and masks of the assembled Death Eaters. It seemed to reflect back to the centre of the circle, illuminating the red-robed figure who stood there surveying his followers.

Cloud gasped as he looked on the person he'd only ever seen as the handsome David. This was ... was... He swallowed at the bile rising in his throat as the being lowered his hood, revealing a hairless, deathly white head, a nose with slits for nostrils and livid blood-red eyes. Those eyes roved over the gathering, and Cloud quickly looked down as they seemed to rest on him, his Dark Mark prickling painfully as if the Dark Lord had known Cloud had been watching him. This was, he realised, the being Harry saw in his dreams and whom Harry had drawn a picture of after claiming to have faced him in reality more than once. This wasn't the person he'd been privileged to know for the last three years ... this was...

"Arise, my friends."

The familiar voice interrupted Cloud's thoughts, and in a rustle of fabric the assembled group came to their feet. When he looked back at the red-robed figure a second time, the snake-like features had disappeared and once again David ... his David ... stood before them. Maybe he'd been mistaken. Maybe what he'd seen before had been an illusion created by the magic.

"Welcome." David's voice boomed over the grounds as he stepped down from the Hallows and strode over to the circle of Death Eaters; those closest to him dropped back to their knees, reaching for the hem of his robe. "Welcome to an event that will mould our future and the future of Wizarding kind; not only in Britain, but in the rest of the world as well."

As he talked, David walked slowly around the circle, giving each of his followers time to drop to the ground and pay him due homage by kissing the hem of his robe.

"Tonight, my friends, you will be privileged to bear witness to an event which has taken seventeen years to reach fruition. An event that will go down in the annals of our history as the point where all things changed. This place holds the key to my plan." His arm swept in a wide arc, taking in the stone where the energy seemed to pulse in time with his words. "This is one of the locations where Earth Magic ... that potent force from which we all gain our powers ... pools on the surface. I intend to unlock that Magic ... Magic that is my birthright ... and once I have united myself with these forces, nothing will be impossible. No one will stand in our way. And you, my friends, will all know what it feels like to wield such power. Through the Mark that binds us in life and death, all of you will be able to access Earth Magic. You will know how it feels to dispense with your wands and manipulate magic with a mere thought."

Around Cloud the other Death Eaters moaned with suppressed excitement. Even Cloud was impressed. Wandless magic? He knew a few people had the ability to work magic without wands, but if this magic were available to a huge group it would shift the whole balance of power in the Wizarding world. David had always told him that he could make him a powerful wizard and here he was keeping to his word. Was that the magic he could feel now radiating from the Hallows?

He let out a little gasp as he realised David had finally reached him in his journey around the circle and almost without thinking he dropped to his knees, hands scrabbling for the red material of the Dark Lord's robe. As he raised it to his mouth, he felt a hand rest on his head. It felt like a benediction, and Cloud all but swooned at the touch. David hadn't touched any of the other Death Eaters, yet he had bestowed that honour on his newest follower.

With one last caress, David turned back to face the circle of Death Eaters. "But first, we are going to welcome a new member to our select brotherhood. He is from an old and venerable family who can trace their lineage back to the time of Salazar Slytherin. His father has served in our ranks for many years, and I know the son will serve equally as well. He is my Key, friends. He is _our_ Key because he is the one who will unlock the Earth Magic for all of us to use." He gestured towards the Hallows.

Cloud came back to his feet, watching as the magic gushed, cascading like a fountain into the air, and then settled leaving in its wake two figures, both clothed in red to match David. He remember his own initiation, when he'd been the one in the red robes, but there had been no one to stand with him ... no father figure or family friend to act as his mentor. And now he understood why Shadow had refused. Shadow wasn't a Death Eater ... Shadow wasn't a pure-blood and would never be accepted into these illustrious ranks.

Yet Malfoy ... the little ferret ... not only had a father, but also probably countless others who would have stood with him. His thoughts tinged with a hatred that had grown over the last seven years. They might be on the same side now, but that didn't mean he had to like the git. He watched as Lucius Malfoy placed a hand on his son's shoulder, pushing him down to his knees before he, too, knelt on the Hallows. There, father and son waited until David had joined them. Then, Lucius spoke, his words addressed to David but loud enough for all to hear.

"My Master, I present my son, Draco."

Cloud sneered. There had been no one to present him at his initiation, no formal introduction to the Dark Lord, just David's welcome. He watched closely as Lucius reached a hand to the red robes of their master, but Draco didn't move; he seemed to be frozen, as if in fear or shock, and it was only when Lucius pulled the cloth towards him that Draco finally took it in his hands.

The circle of people murmured a greeting in response, and as each stage of the ceremony took place, Cloud joined in with the responses, remembering them from his own initiation just over a month earlier on his eighteenth birthday. He tried to remember his life before then ... before he'd finally dedicated himself to David's service, but surprisingly he didn't really remember what it had been like before then. It was as if everything had changed at that point, as if David's Mark had seeped into his very soul. He had already committed himself to David the previous summer during a private ceremony, however. It was then that David had asked Cloud to turn Harry over to him and had arranged the attack at the Burrow. Of course, it had all gone wrong, and Harry believed himself responsible for Cloud's injuries, but the truth was that his leg was nowhere near as badly damaged as people had believed. David had people everywhere, including on the staff of St Mungo's, and it had been easy to make believe he had been badly injured. He'd felt awful about lying to his mother and father and, occasionally, sorry that Harry felt so responsible for what had happened, but the truth was he'd made the decision about what path his life would take and that was with David.

A loud crack of magical thunder brought Cloud from his thoughts, and he looked up just in time to see Draco and his father back on their feet. His heart began to pound as he realised what would happen next ... first the blood oath and then the Marking, and he could feel his own Mark itch in anticipation of the joining. Eyes fixed on the Hallows, he realised there was someone on the ground, cowering before the Dark Lord.

It was too dark to see who the person was, but Cloud licked his lips in anticipation. It was probably a Muggle ... he remembered vividly the Muggle who'd been presented to him at his initiation. It had been a man in his early forties, and he remembered all too clearly that the man's fear had felt almost as though it had been some sort of drug ... an aphrodisiac ... the power racing through his body.

And then, almost as if the sensation couldn't get any better, he remembered how it had felt as he'd sucked the life from the man. As the Muggle had died, he'd felt the man's life force flow into him. For a moment he'd been shocked because it had felt like magic ... as though he was drinking the man's magical essence from his body and as if David was drinking it through him. But Muggles didn't have magic, he'd reminded himself, so this must have been something else.

Whatever it was, it had felt so _good,_ and he'd dreamed of feeling the same power and magic again over the last month. And now Draco was going to experience that feeling of euphoria and with it that touch of David in the very essence of his own being. He felt jealousy building in the pit of his stomach and wondered if the others in the circle were experiencing the same thing -- that someone else was going to feel the exhilarated mixture of power and longing brought by linking with the most powerful wizard in the world.

On the little stage that the Hallows had become, Lucius had stepped behind his son. He whispered something into Draco's ear, but the boy didn't move except for a shake of his head.

Later, when Cloud's mind finally came down from the anticipation and adrenalin rush that currently coloured his thoughts, he would replay this moment over and over. He would remember that Draco wasn't still but had been trying to leave and that it was Lucius' arms around him that were keeping him in place.

He would remember that while the wand was in Draco's hand, Lucius' own hand was clasped around his son's, holding the wand in place.

And he would remember that the voice, loud and clear in the evening air, which had intoned _"Avada Kedavra"_ hadn't been Draco's.

Later, he would remember being sickened that Draco was too scared to say the words himself and needed his father to do it for him. He would think that Draco was the coward he'd always thought he was and wonder why David would want this Malfoy as part of his inner circle of followers. He would wonder why Harry lowered himself to letting this coward touch him, but then he would remember that Harry wasn't a pure-blood, which probably explained everything.

But at that moment, as the Muggle froze in his shroud of green light and dropped like a stone to the ground, all Cloud was aware of was the feeling of the Muggle's life force arcing over the circle. It burned into him, pulsing through him in a surge of exhilaration. He knew everyone in the circle felt it and that the connection between them throbbed in time with his heartbeat.

And then ... when he thought he might pass out from the ecstasy ... he knew! He felt it ... the itch of the Mark on his left arm exploding into life, and he knew Draco had been Marked.

Draco crumpled to the ground under the surge of power. His father followed him to the ground, cradling him through the pleasure/pain of the aftershock that Cloud recalled from his own Marking.

He could feel the power coursing through his own body now. It was ... was ... he shuddered ... better than sex; he was hard from the magic and the power clothed him in its solid, tangible force.

A sound began to fill the evening air, a low single musical note that at first he thought was coming from the gathering, but which he soon realised was coming from the Hallows. As it grew in volume, Lucius finally released his hold on his son and, as he did, he stripped off Draco's blood-red robe. Lucius motioned Draco back to his feet, but when the boy didn't move, it was David who pulled Draco upright. For a moment Cloud thought David was going to remain with Draco on the Hallows, but he stepped off, leaving the slightly swaying figure alone.

The musical tone continued growing stronger -- a single note which seemed to stretch into infinity, resonating through the air. As the sound increased, a soft glow started to emanate from the stone. It increased with the strength of the music or, Cloud considered, maybe the music was growing with the light.

Then, just when the sound was starting to make his ears hurt, the light solidified, forming tendrils that climbed into the night air. They twisted and twirled around Draco, flaring around him in sparks of green and copper-red. The tendrils buoyed Draco into the air, raising him above the Hallows, which seemed to liquefy beneath him, its surface radiating the colours like molten metal.

Cloud felt himself step towards the magic that was welling up from the stone. This had to be Earth Magic ... he could sense it tingling through him, and he realised that filaments of magic snaking across the ground towards him. It was happening to everyone in the circle. Each of them was being surrounded by the filaments, which flowed into their bodies and then out again into the sky to join with the stream of Earth Magic holding Draco aloft.

This was it ... this was the moment when David would take what belonged to him, and Cloud would be a part of that moment.

David had changed. He had turned back to the pale snake-like being and he had shed his own robes now, revealing a pale-skinned torso. Red eyes blazing and the slits of his nostrils flaring, he stepped into the stream of magic and held his arms aloft.

Eyes wide in awe, Cloud watched the beginning of Voldemort's transformation. He was still aware of the magic flowing through his own body, and with it came the knowledge that his master was imbibing this power within him and that it was bringing changes to him. The resurrected body Harry had seen created in the Little Hangleton graveyard was changing forever, and as David's features replaced those of Voldemort, Cloud knew that finally David would have what he had so long desired.

Immortality.

Then...

Nothing.

When Harry opened his eyes again, he found himself in another place. Gone were the windy slopes of the Tor, and instead he was standing in the middle of a circle of people. He tried to look about him, but even as he did, he found himself assaulted by a searing pain that ripped through his scar. The feeling was so intense that if a steadying arm hadn't been wrapped around his waist, he knew he might have collapsed.

Twinned with the pain in his head was a constriction in his chest and he struggled to breathe. Panting, he leaned back against the person who was holding him. "What's happening?" he finally managed to gasp.

"It's the Darkness. Remember how you felt it before."

The voice in Harry's ear was deeper, and he knew that the Earth Magic being had changed from the Boy and was now using his father's image . He managed to turn a little, just enough to look up at an older version of himself. "The Darkness?"

"Yes. You're surrounded by it -- each person here has been touched by Voldemort's Darkness. It contaminates the very air you breathe, and that's why you're struggling now. You are more in tune with the Magic now, so when there is something as disturbing to it as this collection of people, then it will affect you more. Let it flow over you instead of taking it into your being. Remember how Sirius taught you to shield yourself ... using the image of putting on our Invisibility Cloak to protect you."

For several minutes Harry just stood there, held against the Man. It was hard to focus with the pain from his scar, but the comforting pressure of the person behind him flowed into him, and finally he realised he could breathe without it hurting. But his scar still pulsed in time with his heartbeat, and he knew the pain could only have one source.

Voldemort was close by.

"Where are we?" The question was rhetorical; Harry knew exactly where they were; right in the middle of a group of Death Eaters. As he looked around, a memory surfaced of being bound tightly to a gravestone in the Little Hangleton cemetery, and he shuddered involuntarily at the thought, trying to push it away. What had happened still featured in his dreams ... no, nightmares ... and, as if in sympathy with the memory, the scar on his right arm, where Wormtail had taken blood for Voldemort's resurrection, began to throb.

Around him, the landscape looked like a photographic negative, expect for the area of grass on which he stood and, off to his right, a large slab of stone on which he could just make out a figure standing. Unlike the frozen landscape he had left at the Tor, here everything was in real time, as if he was part of the real world while still remaining part of the world of Earth Magic.

"We are at one of Voldemort's gatherings, and the stone is what Wizards know as the Hallows. Your ancestors, the Magicians, called it the Lock and used it to access Earth Magic. It is one of many locks -- the pool at Hogwarts is another -- and Voldemort is going to use this one to unlock the Magic."

"Does he know we're here?" Harry took a quick look around him, amazed to be standing in the centre of this circle completely undetected.

"He might feel something, but he is too caught up in his plans to notice at the moment. But once you close off the energy, we must leave quickly before he can make a link with you."

Harry gave a quick nod. "Okay." Then he felt it. A realisation that he knew ... _knew_ ... who the person on the stone was.

Draco.

Harry gasped as he tried to pull out of the Man's grip. "Draco!"

"He's the Key, Harry. Voldemort will use him to open the lock."

Harry struggled, desperate to get to the other boy.

"No! We have to wait until the Magic has been released and Voldemort has started to bond with it. Only then can you shut it down and bar him forever from the Magic at this point."

"But Draco..." The panic in his own voice surprised him. He was worried, he knew that, but this was much more. So much more. "I have to get to him."

"I know, Harry." The Man turned Harry round to face him, hands gripping hard on Harry's arms. "But some things are more important. Save Draco now, and you condemn everyone to a second reign of terror. Save Draco now and you condemn _him _because he will remain the Key and Voldemort will use him again and again in his attempts to gain control of this Magic. I know you understand."

And Harry _did_ understand. His head understood ... but his heart was beating so fast he thought it might burst. Inside his head the words _Not again_ were thundering around and around. It had been bad enough when Voldemort had taken Cedric, and Harry hadn't really known him ... if Draco died as well...

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden sound that began to fill the area. It reminded him of phoenix song, and the sound made his skin prickle with goose bumps.

"It's starting." The Man reached for Harry's hand, leading him the few paces to the stone platform.

Up close, Harry could finally see Draco's face. Grey eyes were wide and seemed to be staring directly at him, but like everyone else in the circle, Draco couldn't see him and instead looked straight through him. Harry reached out a hand, knowing he couldn't touch the other boy but wanting to be closer ... as close as possible. "Draco." His voice was a whisper and for a moment ... one long infinitesimal moment, he thought those grey eyes looked at him. Then he noticed it, a single tear sliding down Draco's cheek. He watched its journey, knowing how his lover's tear felt and tasted, and wanting to reach out and wipe this one away.

The tear hung for one shining moment on Draco's chin before it dropped like a raindrop to the ground.

Harry felt it splash on the stone. Felt it through to his soul and knew the lock had been opened. Around him the music rose and energy began to boil from the stone, rising like a low mist to spill over the edges to the ground. It condensed into filaments, which snaked across the grass with a hiss of water dripped onto hot coals until they reached the circle of Death Eaters where they twisted around ankles like Devil's Snare. The filaments wound about each person before arcing into the air like the spokes of some gigantic umbrella to meet back on the stone again.

As the filaments joined together once again, they formed thicker tendrils of leaf-green light, which mingled with earthy tones of copper and auburn that shimmered in the darkness. They wrapped around Draco, lifting him into the night air. Then someone stepped onto the raised circle of stone, and even before the person pulled off his robes, Harry knew it was Voldemort.

"It's time," the Man whispered. "When he steps into the magic, that will be your moment, Harry."

"I don't know if I can do this." Harry eyes flickered from Voldemort to Draco and back to the Dark Lord again. He could see ... no _feel_ ... the triumph in those red eyes.

"You can."

As Voldemort stepped into the Magic, Harry joined him on the stone. He could feel the energy surging from the ground, where it pooled within the stone, turning the surface to liquid power, before rising into the night sky. The Dark Lord was changing before his eyes ... his body morphing from the snake-like being who had haunted Harry's dreams for almost three years into someone else. Voldemort looked like Riddle ... an adult version of the boy Harry had once met in the Chamber of Secrets. He could feel Voldemort soaking up the energy like a sponge as the tendrils gathered at the Dark Lord's feet, winding around his legs and spiralling up his body in a sea of sparks.

"Now, Harry."

With one final, brief glance into the sky at Draco, Harry took one step forward into the Magic.

He couldn't help but gasp as the Magic surged about him. It was like coming home. As the tendrils reached for him, the energy filled his very being. It felt like he was basking in the sunshine and standing in the rain. Like snow was falling and like moonlight in a clear night sky.

_Turn the key in the lock_

A voice whispered in Harry's mind, and for what seemed like a lifetime, he tried to imagine he was doing just that. He didn't want to ... he wanted to stay here with the Magic flowing through him ... he didn't want to leave. But he could feel the strength in Voldemort steadily growing and slowly ... slowly, he turned the key in the lock. The Magic ripped away from Voldemort and, like a puppet whose strings had been cut, the Dark Lord dropped to the ground.

And then there was nothing.

Nothing but Draco.

Harry reached out his arms to grab him from the air, and lowering him gently to the stone, cradled him in his arms.

**_... Glastonbury ..._**

The Tor was empty now, the last of the visitors having left as the sun had set. Sirius watched as the waxing gibbous moon slowly rose in the southern sky. It would be a full moon on Saturday, and he wondered briefly how Remus coped with the full moon now. Was the Wolfsbane Potion still enough to deal with the trauma of turning into a werewolf each month, or had Remus found some other way of dealing with it?

It had been good to meet up with Remus again and renew their friendship; good to know that even after everything that had happened to them, they still had that to fall back on. Oh, he missed James ... James' death had been like losing part of himself ... but Remus had been like a calmness in the stormy sea of his youth, and he still had that effect on Sirius now.

The sky above the Tor was darkening now and pinpricks of starlight twinkled in the black velvet. The temperature had dropped once the sun had dipped below the horizon, and Sirius found himself shivering a little. Reaching for his wand, he magicked a couple of blankets and one-handedly (because Harry still clasped his other hand) pulled one blanket around his own shoulders and the other over his godson. The grass would start to dampen with night dew soon, and he chided himself for not thinking of that earlier and making sure Harry had something to lie on rather then directly on the grass.

He studied the boy for a moment, wondering what was happening in his trance-world. Here, in this world (the real one as far as Sirius was concerned), Harry had the calm serenity of an untroubled sleep. If it wasn't for the way he still clasped Sirius' hand so tightly, Sirius would have assumed Harry was just dozing. In the quiet Sirius had had time to think, something he didn't do that often. Thinking made him remember and so often where Harry was concerned, remembering always reminded him of James and Lily. What would they think if they knew what their son had become? Little Harry ... an Earth Mage of all things.

Harry stirred, one hand clutching briefly at the blanket, and Sirius found himself making little _shhhing_ noises as if quieting a fretful child. Was it fair to ask Harry to take so much on his slim shoulders? He had watched Harry through all his links with Earth Magic over the last couple of weeks, and each time he was worried about how vulnerable Harry was at these moments. If his godson were ever alone at these times, anything could happen. He needed a protector to watch over him ... to be there when Harry was at his most defenceless. Maybe, he considered, he should offer to take on that role. It made sense really; after all, hadn't he been the one to teach Harry about his true past? Wasn't he a surrogate parent doing the job James would have done if he'd still been alive?

Off in the distance a dog barked and was answered by another. For a second Sirius thought about transforming but the moment quickly passed. There was something very comforting -- very freeing -- about being Padfoot, something from his days in Azkaban no doubt, when he used to transform to cope with his imprisonment. He didn't revert to his Animagus form as much these days, but when he did things seemed less ... complicated.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that when Harry suddenly sat up, the movement made Sirius jump with a start. His godson's eyes were open wide, and he was panting as if he'd just run a very long race.

"Harry?" He reached out for the boy's arm but it was pushed away almost immediately as Harry scrambled to be free of the blanket. "Harry, it's okay ... you're back."

"What ... I..."

"Come on. Take a deep breath." This time he managed to hold onto the boy, one arm around Harry's shoulder. "I've got you, Harry, you're safe now."

"No, you don't understand." Harry pushed Sirius away, struggling to get to his feet. "I have to go..."

"Go where?" Sirius fought with the boy's flailing arms. "Harry! Calm down!"

But Harry finally won, scrambling from the ground. "No, you don't understand. He's the Key, and he's there all on his own." Harry stumbled around, looking this way and that, as though trying to find something he'd lost. "I should _never_ have let him go. Never!"

Sirius darted after the boy. "Harry ... come on..." He reached out, but his hands were knocked away again. "Please tell me what happened."

"He was meant to be safe..." Harry's voice echoed in the darkness.

"Who, Harry?"

Sirius never got an answer to his question as, with a rush of magic, Harry popped out of existence.

**Night ...**

**_... Malfoy Manor ..._**

The room was cold, his breath condensing as he exhaled. Draco's robes had long since disappeared in the nightmare of what had happened, leaving his bare arms covered in goose bumps. He didn't dare move to rub warmth back into them. His knees hurt from the hard stone floor, and there was a throbbing pain of confusion and fear in his head. To make matters worse, his left arm hurt as though someone had placed a red-hot brand on his skin.

Eyes fixed on the floor a few feet in front of him, Draco tried to stop shivering. He knew he was cold, but he decided his shivering was as much from shock as the chilly air.

Shock because of what he'd just been through and which he didn't want to think about.

He didn't want to think about how his father had taken them both from his room and out into the Manor grounds.

He didn't want to think about the circle of Death Eaters waiting for them.

He didn't want to think about Voldemort standing next to him or the Dark Lord wearing his other face ... his disguise ... David Morrello ... red eyes dangerous in the torchlight.

He didn't want to think of Justin Finch-Fletchley dragged before him, cowering on the damp grass, eyes pleading up at him.

He didn't want to think of his wand clasped tightly, Lucius' hand wrapped around his own fingers. How the wand was pointed at the trembling boy as his father had hissed out the words _"Avada Kedavra" _and how Draco had felt the power of the curse bursting from his wand in a surge of green magic. Of those dead eyes staring up at him, one of Justin's hands still reaching out to him ... pleading.

He didn't want to think about the moment Voldemort had clasped his forearm, or of the feeling of the Dark Lord's Mark as it cut into his skin. Of his own pleas to his father not to let this happen to him and of Lucius' placating, almost soothing, voice telling him that one day Draco would understand ... one day he would thank his father for allowing this to happen to him.

Draco would have whimpered a little if his mouth weren't so dry. His fingers dug reflexively into his knees. The Mark hadn't been what he'd expected; Lucius had told him it would hurt and that part of the binding was the pain ... bound in blood and anguish to their Master and their fellow Death Eaters for life. But there had been nothing like that. As the Mark had sliced into him it had felt like ... like he was falling ... like he was drunk or drugged ... like he was outside his own body watching from a distance.

_Please don't let him do this, father. Please ... please ... please..._

But it hurt now.

It started to hurt when Voldemort had set loose the magic pooling like some underground lake of molten lava under the Manor. He'd called Draco his 'Key' and said that once his Key had opened the lock the magic would flow. Draco didn't understand, but he remembered standing alone on the circular slab of stone, remembered how the surface seemed to shimmer beneath his feet until he was held aloft by the energy as the stone turned and turned. How the magic had boiled and effervesced around him, strands twisting like snakes up his body to fill the air about him with static electricity.

He thought he'd seen lightning bolts in the air ... felt familiar arms curl around him as the magic had built as if reaching a crescendo.

_Harry._

And then...

Nothing.

Just as everyone around had started to roar with excitement and delight, it had ended. Like a cork being put back in the bottle, locking everything away.

In the silence that had followed, Voldemort had stared at him ... just stared and stared as if in shock. Then those red eyes had flashed with anger, and Draco had known it had all gone wrong. When the Dark Lord's wand had been pointed at him, he'd thought he was going to die, but instead he'd found himself here in this windowless room inside the Manor.

Draco shivered in the cold air. He'd only ever been in this room once before. His father had brought him here during the summer after his fifth year. Lucius had been angry, and Draco had never found out just what it was he'd done to make his father so mad. He'd been led to the room, told to kneel in the centre and to contemplate his transgressions. He thought he'd been left there all night, but he wasn't sure just how long it had been. When he'd next seen his father, Draco had expected to be quizzed on what he had spent his punishment thinking, but the incident had never been mentioned, and he'd never been taken to the room again.

Until now.

Taking a shuddering breath, Draco turned his left hand over so that the back rested on his thigh, the movement exposing the pale skin of his inner forearm. He'd not looked at it since what had happened outside -- not wanted to see what was causing the burning pain on his flesh -- as if by not looking he could deny what had taken place and what it would mean to him, but he knew he would have to look at some point. Have to acknowledge what Voldemort had done to him.

He looked down out the corner of his eye and then finally gave his arm his full attention. He didn't gasp at what he saw ... didn't even feel shocked or upset. The outline of a skull with a snake coming out of its mouth burned into the soft flesh near his elbow simply made him feel numb.

He'd wanted this for _so_ long. Dreamed about joining his father in the Order, standing by his side in the fight against the Mudbloods and Muggles, using the magic Lucius had taught him. But now all he saw was his mutilated skin, blackened and scarred, while in the back of his mind there was an itch he couldn't scratch ... the feeling of something ... someone ... existing there like a nightmare he knew he'd had but couldn't remember. Was that Voldemort whispering in his mind like some Imperius curse? Waiting to use him?

He thought he saw the snake move, but knew that wasn't possible. The Mark was like a tattoo, his father had once explained, still and unmoving, but it was alive to the will of their Master -- a living link between him and the Dark Lord. Through it Voldemort could praise or punish, command and compel.

Draco tentatively touched a finger to his scarred arm, flinching a little as a flicker of pain assaulted the damaged nerve endings in his skin. He remembered other fingers on him, running over his skin with soft feather-light touches. Harry had wanted to protect him ... that was what the magic had been for. Harry had tried to warn him that it wasn't safe for Draco to go home ... that Voldemort might take him ... but Draco hadn't listened. He remembered only too well the conversation they had shared what seemed a lifetime ago now.

_How do you know I'd be telling the truth?_ he had asked Harry.

_Because I trust you._ Harry had replied.

_You trust too easily, Harry. If I said I was going to him, would you still trust me?_

_Until you went._

_And then?_

_And then I would probably have to face you on the battlefield._

Harry wouldn't want him anymore. Not now that Voldemort had Marked him as one of his own.

**_... Outside Malfoy Manor ..._**

Not for the first time, Sirius thanked whatever gods were watching over him that Albus was not only a powerful wizard but also seemed to have so many answers before the questions had even been asked.

When the old man had suggested placing a tracking spell on Harry, Sirius had at first laughed, saying there was no way he would lose his godson and then annoyed at the idea of Harry being tagged by magic without him knowing. Albus had just looked at him and said nothing until Sirius had finally caved in and agreed.

The locator spell worked exactly as it had been supposed to, and when Sirius Apparated after the magical signature, he found his godson holding onto the bars of a ridiculously high metal fence. He watched for a moment as Harry tugged at the bars, as if he could bend them out of shape by the sheer force of his will. The fact was, Sirius considered, Harry probably could do just that if he focused his powers rather than just letting his emotions control his magic.

It had not come as a surprise to him that Harry could Apparate naturally -- if what he did could actually be called 'Apparation'. But what did surprise him was to find just where Harry had chosen to come. He recognised the crests that were attached to the railings, and even if there had been no visible symbols, the magical wards all but screamed out at anyone who dared to come too close. This was the Malfoy estate.

He stepped up to Harry, only too aware of the boy's magic crackling around them. "Harry..."

If the boy was surprised to see him, he didn't show it. Instead his hands remained on the bars. "You should have told me." He finally let go and began striding along the fence line, clearly looking for a way in.

"Told you what, Harry?"

"That Draco was involved in this."

"Draco? You mean the Malfoy boy? Lucius Malfoy's son?"

"Yes," Harry hissed as he finally stopped and looked at his godfather. "He was Voldemort's Key -- the one who was going to release the magic."

Sirius blinked in surprise. Of course he'd known Draco was involved, but what was even more surprising was the fact that Harry seemed to care. "Of course we knew. That's why we had to do this today."

"What?"

"Look, Harry, it was simple..."

"Simple? He could have died ... he could already be dead for all we know. When I got there, the Magic was holding him up in the air. If I hadn't caught him... And god only knows what Voldemort is going to do with him now."

Sirius reached for Harry's shoulder, but his hand was brushed away. "Okay, maybe I should have explained things better to you, but we need to get out of here right now. We've probably set off every ward there is around this place. I'll explain when we get back to Glastonbury."

"No! You tell me _now!"_ Harry rose to his full height, green eyes glinting dangerously in the moonlight.

"Okay, okay." Sirius held up his hands in defeat. "When we found out Voldemort was planning to do the Earth Magic ritual, we knew we had one real chance to stop him. We knew the planetary alignment was going to be right for tonight and that we could have some control over what would happen if we tried to stop him now."

"We could have stopped it by not letting Draco go home."

"That would have stopped it this one time, but Voldemort would have waited for the next time things were in alignment, and he would have made sure Draco was his to use even if it was decades away. And we wouldn't have had any control over what he did. But this time, Harry, we knew that if we could stop him ... if _you_ could stop him ... Voldemort would never get the chance to tap into the power point here at the Manor ever again."

"You should have told me."

"And how would that have changed things? It's only Malfoy's son after all. It's not like he's important."

Harry's fists had balled at his side, and for the first time Sirius realised just how powerful his godson was. Magic seemed to spark around him, and Sirius was grateful Harry was his friend because at that moment he would have hated to be his enemy.

"Not important? Just because his dad isn't on our side, it doesn't mean Draco isn't important. I love him, Sirius!"

**_... Malfoy Manor ..._**

Draco looked up with a start as the door to the room slammed open. When Lucius strode into the room, he started to come to his feet. "Father..."

"Don't move! Haven't you already disgraced me and your family enough?"

Eighteen years of indoctrination froze Draco in place. He responded to the voice as he'd been taught, and as the blood pounded in his ears, he realised there was another figure in the shadows. The way the figure seemed to glide into the room reminded him of the Dementors he'd seen in his third year at Hogwarts and of the person who'd been in his room on the night he'd tried to Summon his grandmother.

He knew it was Voldemort even before the man drew back the hood of his robes.

Rooted to the spot, Draco concentrated on just trying to keep breathing as the Dark Lord walked round him. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck rising as magical power radiated from the man. It prickled against his skin, and he shuddered under the onslaught as Voldemort's fingers rested gently on his head.

The fingers petted and stoked, and finally, after what seemed a lifetime, the man spoke.

"Draco, Draco, Draco," the man's voice was an exasperated sigh. "What am I going to do with you?" The fingers tightened. "Well?"

Draco winced. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"That isn't good enough, boy." Voldemort let go of the blond hair and began a slow, steady stroll around the kneeling boy. "You see, I've waited a very, very long time for tonight -- for you to unlock the Earth Magic stored beneath this place. You were my Key, Draco, my secret solution from the moment you were born. That's why I healed you when you almost died." He crouched down and sneered into Draco's face. "I gave you life!"

"I..."

"Shhhh." The Dark Lord raised a finger to his lips. "It's only possible to access my magic at certain times. You've been studying Astronomy ... you must know that there is a planetary alignment tonight. The alignment means the lock is there to be opened, and this is only the second time in your life that the alignment has been just right. The first time was on your first birthday, but my plans were thwarted then as they have been tonight. I expect the same people are responsible." He rose to his feet again and Draco saw that the man's hands were clenching and unclenching. "But he was cleverer this time ... much cleverer. By letting you open the lock and then closing it before I was able to gain access, he made sure the lock would never appear again in your lifetime. Tell me, Draco, who put you up to this?"

"What?"

"Did Dumbledore tell you what to do?"

"No."

"You. Are. Lying!" Voldemort hauled Draco to his feet. "Tell me!"

The hand caught across Draco's face, and he was sent sprawling back to the ground. He tried to scramble away, to get to the safety of his father, but the Dark Lord's foot pressing onto his back stopped him, pushing him hard against the rough stone floor.

"Now I see... _NOW_ I see what's happened." Voldemort removed his foot and reached for Draco's left arm, pulling at him. "I thought something was wrong; you can't sense me, can you?" Red eyes glinted and Draco heard his father gasp in pain. "See, my Mark works on your father, but not on you. So why is that, Draco? Why?"

Pulling at the boy's arm, Voldemort peered at the scarred Mark, prodding it with his free hand as Draco tried not to squirm from the touch. He looked at his father with pleading eyes, silently screaming 'get me out of here', but Lucius looked straight through his son as if he wasn't there.

"Why, Lucius," the Dark Lord glanced at his host, "your son has already been Marked by someone else. Your _loyal_ son has pledged himself to another."

There was a sharp intake of breath, and for a moment Draco wasn't sure whether it was himself or his father.

"You look surprised, boy. Didn't you know? Look!" Voldemort held Draco's arm up. "Look at your master's Mark!"

Shaking, Draco stared at his forearm. Across the temple of the skull a new mark had appeared. It looked like someone had slashed a small lightning bolt mark on his arm. He tried to breathe as he realised just what must have happened a few days ago when Harry had done his protection magic. Harry had kept asking for Draco's permission, and now he knew why. His mind reeling, he wondered for a moment if he might pass out.

Harry had Marked him.

The Dark Lord suddenly came to his feet, pulling Draco up with him again. "No matter. I can save you from this person. Ask me ... give me your permission ... and I will bring you into my Inner Circle where you truly belong. Do that and I will forgive you for what has occurred tonight."

Draco swallowed as he faced the powerful man in front of him. Behind Voldemort he could see his father, grey eyes unreadable. He was desperate for the man's reassurance ... desperate for him to make this all right ... to tell him what to do. And then there was Harry.

Harry -- who'd chosen to Mark him without telling him, and for a moment Draco found himself confused. If Harry could do this to him, then how was he any different from Voldemort? Harry had taken away Draco's choice. But hadn't Harry asked Draco again and again if he wanted to go to Voldemort? Hadn't Draco told Harry that he didn't want to join his father's Master?

His father's Master.

Draco finally managed to look at the man his father had been following since he was Draco's age, and he saw beyond the façade that was David Morrello to what was underneath.

"Ask me, Draco."

Draco straightened, his chin jutting in a proud, arrogant gesture as he glanced at his father and then back to the most feared wizard in a century. "No." The single word was a whisper.

"What?" Red eyes flashed.

"No, I won't." This time his voice was stronger, more positive.

"Yes, you will," the Dark Lord hissed back as he drew his wand. "Lucius."

"Master." Lucius took a single step forward.

"Leave us."

"Father..." Still hoping Lucius would protect him, Draco stepped towards the older man. He was aware of the swish of Voldemort's wand and somewhere in the back of his mind he heard the word _Crucio._ He stumbled to the ground as the pain swamped his body, forcing a strangled word from him "Daddy!" as he reached his hand out towards Lucius, fingers clawing briefly at his father's boot.

"I said go!"

Not meeting his son's desperate gaze, Lucius turned simply on his heel and left.

Through the haze of pain, Draco watched his father leave, and as the door closed he felt his world come crashing down about him. His father ... his beloved father ... his role model ... his protector ... the person he aspired to be, had left him with this maniac.

He didn't know how long the pain continued, but when it finally ended the relief was almost palpable. He gasped for breath, trying to draw air into his painful lungs. It hurt everywhere. Even his eyelashes seemed to hurt.

Voldemort was at his side, hand tangled in Draco's hair as he pulled the boy's head up sharply. "Ask me."

"I won't." Somewhere a spark of inner strength grew into rebellion.

"Who Marked you? Was it him? Potter?"

Draco gave a small cry of pain as the fingers twisted in his hair. It felt like it was being pulled out in clumps.

"It would be just like that brat to use his scar as a Mark. It won't protect you, Draco. It won't stop me from killing you." He yanked at the boy once more before letting go so fast that Draco's head cracked against the floor. "Idiot boy! Do you think I'm just going to let you go back to him? Wave goodbye and wish you all the best?"

The second time Voldemort cast Cruciatus was even worse than the first. It ate into him until he thought he would die from the pain. His bones felt like they were shredding and his skin was on fire.

"I'll send Potter your body for him to weep over. Then he will see who is the stronger. You are mine, Draco, and he will not have you!"

When the curse ended this time, Draco was curled into a ball, shaking violently. He realised he must have been thrashing about on the ground because the rough stone had cut into his bare arms and there were specks of blood on his cream-coloured tunic.

"But that would be too easy, wouldn't it, to kill you." Voldemort stroked his wand over Draco's left arm. "You need to suffer, boy, and I can make your life a living horror. First by doing this." He tapped his wand on the head of the snake.

Draco felt the snake move. Eyes opening wide, he managed to move enough to look down at his arm and saw the snake slither over his skin, little tongue flicking out.

"I can sense the magic he used on you. It's strong but mine is stronger. My snake will find a chink in your armour, Draco. It will find a way through Potter's protection, and when it does, I will have my revenge on him, and then you will be _my_ champion." Voldemort smirked. "And remember I told you that I could take away your magic, Squib. Will he want you then? Will he want you when you are nothing but a magic-less filthy Muggle? Why don't we see?" Voldemort pointed his wand, the tip pressing quickly against the boy's forehead as he whispered, _"Veneficus Delitesco."_

The magic flowed out from the wand tip and over Draco. He felt like he was sinking into mud ... being drowned in quicksand ... and for a moment he tried to struggle away. But the magic froze him as it washed though him. It didn't feel like normal magic, but surrounded him in an ephemeral mantle of darkness and he shuddered as it reached in to his very being, leaving in its wake an emptiness where Draco's own magic had once been. Eyes wide with fear, Draco finally managed to look up at his tormentor.

Voldemort smirked knowingly, red eyes flashing dangerously. _"Accio Wand."_ He reached out a hand, plucking Draco's wand from the air. "Squibs don't need wands." With that he snapped the wand in two and tossed the pieces to one side. They burst into flame, ash scattering over the floor.

**_... Glastonbury ..._**

Harry paced backwards and forwards across the small amount of floor space not taken up by furniture in the guesthouse room. Even without the two beds and large chest of drawers it only took half a dozen paces to get from one side of the room to the other. Occasionally, he would stop at the large floor-to-ceiling window and stare out into the darkness before continuing his pacing.

The room was too green he decided ... much too green. It reminded him of Avada Kedavra and of the light that had spiralled up from the Hallows raising Draco into the night air, and it made him feel just a little nauseous. So much for the idea that green was supposed to be calming. At the moment he felt anything but calm, and the restlessness and worry was getting steadily worse by the minute.

He was aware of Sirius sitting at the small writing desk where he had been since finishing a letter what seemed like an hour ago. In reality it was probably only a few minutes, but Harry couldn't bring himself to look at the man just yet. He was still angry with his godfather ... so angry that neither Sirius nor Professor Dumbledore had told him the truth. If he'd known what Draco was walking into, Harry knew he would have done anything to stop him from going home. And Snape must have known what was going to happen as well, which was why he'd been so insistent for Harry to do the protection magic on Draco. How dare Snape not tell him the truth after what Harry had done for him?

He stopped yet again at the window and stared out, but all he could see was his own reflection in the dark glass because of the light in the room. He'd wanted to go get Draco from the Manor, but after pleading and then begging, Sirius had persuaded him as to just how foolhardy it would be for Harry to step into the Manor grounds. At some point during his pleading, Sirius had told him that there was no way just the two of them could take on Voldemort and all his Death Eaters on their own. So he'd told his godfather that he didn't need him and that if Sirius wasn't brave enough to come with him, then Harry would go on his own.

He felt guilty about that now, but hadn't apologised yet because he still blamed Sirius for the fact that Draco was on his own at Malfoy Manor and there was nothing Harry could do to help him. So much for being an Earth Mage -- what was the point of having access to all that fancy magic if he couldn't use it to save someone he loved?

Harry chewed at his bottom lip for a moment. He was as surprised as Sirius clearly had been over that little confession; surprised at actually admitting it to someone other than Draco. If he were honest with himself, he wasn't even sure about the love thing. Oh, he'd said something during the protection magic ritual, but he still wasn't quite sure he understood what 'being in love' actually was.

He knew that the knot of fear in his stomach was real enough, and that the fear was mixed with helplessness at not being able to just stride into the Manor and take Draco to safety. There was also a part of him that was scared witless over what Voldemort might do to Draco now that his plans had been thwarted once again. At least he thought Draco was alive. He wasn't quite sure how the Mark he'd given Draco really worked, but he thought he could still sense the other boy and was sure that if something awful had happened he would be aware of it.

"Harry."

Looking in the glass, he could see Sirius over his shoulder. Sirius' expression in the makeshift mirror was all too obvious -- the man looked like he'd aged several years. For a moment Harry wasn't sure if he could look his godfather in the eye, but finally he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and turned round.

"Look, Harry, can we talk? I know you're tired ... I know I am ... but I don't want us to go to sleep angry like this."

Harry gave a little shrug and allowed himself to be led back to his bed where he flopped down. Then, pulling off his glasses, he tossed them on the bedside table and flung an arm across his eyes for a moment.

"Don't go to sleep on me."

"I won't," Harry answered as he finally looked at his godfather. "Look, I'm sorry about what I said earlier ... about you not being brave. I was..."

"I know." Sirius sat down on the edge of the bed. "Harry, I didn't know about Draco and you. If I had..."

"Would it have made any difference?"

"No, I don't think so. We needed to stop Voldemort."

Harry hoisted himself up on to his elbows. "And you were willing to sacrifice a kid for that? A teenager? Someone like me?"

"We thought he was going to join Voldemort."

"Which makes it okay to do what you and Dumbledore did?"

"No, not really. But there wasn't anyone else. Draco was the important person in this equation, and sometimes we have to do things we don't necessarily like."

"Right." Harry dropped back down onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. "You should have told me."

"And would you have gone ahead with it, knowing what Voldemort would have achieved if he'd succeeded?"

For several minutes Harry continued his scrutiny of the ceiling. Without his glasses it wasn't in focus, but he still let his eyes track over the pale green paint. Would he have taken part in the plan if he'd known Draco was part of it? He'd been worried about Draco going home -- worried that Voldemort might Mark him -- for ages now and that was why he'd gone ahead with the protection magic. He finally looked back at Sirius. "I don't know. It's just that..."

"You care?"

He gave a curt nod.

"And that's the difference between Voldemort and you, Harry. You _care_ about people." Sirius reached out and ruffled Harry's hair. "You know something, Harry, you sure as hell picked the most inopportune moment to come out to me."

"Are you angry?"

"That you like boys? No. I'm a little shocked though ... I always expected you to end up with Hermione or Ginny Weasley. But Draco Malfoy? I wouldn't have seen that coming in a month of Sundays." He got to his feet and returned to his own bed where he made himself comfortable. "Now why don't you fill me in with all the gory details?"

**_... Malfoy Manor ..._**

The bedroom was in darkness when his mother entered; she was carrying a small lantern, which reflected the light off her blonde hair and picked out her familiar features. For a moment she just stared into the room as if worried about entering. "Draco? Why are you sitting in the dark?"

Her son looked up from where he lay on the bed. He hadn't expected anyone to visit, not after the debacle that his birthday had turned into. "Because..." He took a breath. "Because I can't light the candles." He swung his legs around to sit on the edge of the bed. "Mother..."

She was across the room in an instant, lantern placed on the bedside table as she took her boy into her arms. "Oh, Draco, what have you done?"

"I don't know. I just..."

"Your father is mortified. Draco, he is talking about disowning you if you don't bow to the Dark Lord's wishes."

"It wasn't my fault. I didn't mean for the Earth Magic thing to go wrong."

"But you refused him, Draco. You refused him." Narcissa pulled back a little so she could look at her son's face.

"Am I really a Squib, mother?"

"I don't know. You were such a sickly baby, love." She pushed the hair off his forehead. "I thought I would lose you. But he made you well ... made you strong. Draco, I promised your grandmother that one day I would tell you this. She hated what he did to you and always said that you would grow stronger on your own. She was responsible for him not being able to carry out his magic on your first birthday."

"What happened?"

"That doesn't matter. What is important is that you lived, dear heart, and that you are still alive now." She hugged Draco tightly.

"I can't do magic anymore. It feels ... I feel like my soul's been ripped out, and I don't know what to do anymore." Draco could feel tears pricking in his eyes. He'd promised himself that he wouldn't cry, that he would get out of this somehow. "What about father? Can I see him ... talk to him?"

She dropped her eyes from his. "He... He doesn't wish to talk with you at the moment." She kissed him gently on the cheek as she came to her feet. "I will leave the lantern with you and one of the house-elves will bring you breakfast. Please stay here in the morning. It would be better if you don't wander around the house."

"But..."

"There are spells, Draco, spells that are activated when non-magical beings are in the area. I don't want you hurt by accident." Narcissa quickly headed for the door. "We will talk in the morning."

As the door closed, Draco stared at it for a long time. His life was falling apart, and he didn't know how to stop it. He felt naked without magic, lost and alone, and now even his home was conspiring against him. Earlier he'd thought about going to Voldemort on his hands and knees and pleading for his powers, but even with no magic he was still a Malfoy, and Malfoys shouldn't go on their knees to anyone.

What hurt the most had been what his father had done. His father had deserted him ... walked out while his son had been subjected to Cruciatus. Draco had always expected his father to protect him ... fight for him ... be there through even the worst times. Hadn't he told Harry that? Hadn't Lucius been the one bright, shining beacon in his life?

It was all Harry's fault, he quickly decided. If he hadn't gotten involved with Harry then none of this would have happened. He would have come home for his birthday, accepted the Mark, acted as Voldemort's Key, gone on to marry Gwen and lived happily ever after.

But because of Harry, he'd seen something else. A different way of life. Was it a better way as well? It didn't feel like it at the moment. And hadn't Harry taken it upon himself to Mark him without asking, without telling Draco why?

He scratched at the Mark on his arm. The snake was no longer there. Sometimes he thought he could feel it moving over his body and earlier he'd watched it moving down his leg, pausing occasionally as if looking for something ... what was it Voldemort had said _It will find a way through Potter's protection, and when it does, then I will have my revenge. _

Dragging his hand across his eyes, Draco tried to wipe away the tears that were gathering, and as he did he picked up the little box Harry had given him, flinging it against the wall with an angry shout. It dropped to the floor with a thud before skittering over the wooden floorboards.

Damn Harry ... damn him to hell!

**_... Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry ..._**

Albus Dumbledore watched as the little owl fluttered silently out of the open window and into the night. Outside the moon cast a silvered light over the castle grounds.

Returning to his chair by the fire, Albus magicked the embers back into life. He felt the cold at his age; it seemed to seep into his bones even on the warmest of days. Once settled, he opened the message the owl had brought. It was, as he'd expected, from Sirius, and he heaved a tired sigh of relief at the man's brief words. Harry had succeeded, but was upset about the Malfoy boy.

Thoughtfully, Albus tapped the edge of the parchment on his fingertips. Yes, he'd assumed Harry would be upset once he realised Draco was involved. But war sometimes called for sacrifices. He hoped both boys would understand when ... if ... they returned to the school.

He was getting too old for this; too old to send the young out into dangerous situations. It was time to hand the reins over to someone else. But there was just one last thing he needed to do. One final piece to add to the jigsaw he had been putting together since the day he'd first realised just what Tom Riddle had become.

**_... Malfoy Manor ..._**

It was the bright moon shining through the window that roused Draco from his fitful sleep. He reached automatically for his wand meaning to use it to close the curtains, but as his fingers closed on thin air, the memory of what happened earlier came crashing back.

His wand had been destroyed.

He had no magic.

Letting his hand drop back to his side, he grimaced a little in pain as his fingers connected with the sheet. It was only then that he realised his whole body felt tender ... no ... more than tender ... it was as if his nerves were tingling unpleasantly, almost like something was crawling under his skin. Was this all part of Cruciatus or was it the result of some other part of Voldemort's magic? He felt twitchy and restless as the memory of what had happened played over and over in his head, until finally he couldn't remain lying on the bed any longer. Almost in desperation, he flung the covers back. Something flew from the bed, landing with a quiet thud on the floor in a shaft of moonlight. It was the little toy lion. Jaw tightening, Draco climbed from the bed. The lion could stay there for all he cared, he didn't want it anymore. All he wanted was to sleep, because in sleep he could forget what had taken place.

Stepping from the bed, he let out a yelp of pain as he stubbed his toe on something. It was the box Harry had given him. He picked it up and for a second considered throwing it against the wall again with the hope it would break to pieces, but instead he sank to the floor turning the box over and over in his hands. The anger from earlier had morphed into loneliness now, and he wanted to be anywhere but the place he had always considered his home. He wondered if he would ever feel safe again.

"Fuck, Harry, what the hell am I going to do?"

Then he saw it. It looked like one of the box's side panels was coming off. It took him a moment to realise that it was actually a sliding panel and that if he pushed it, another panel became visible, and another and another. What, he considered, if he opened the panels in a certain order? Maybe _that_ was the way to get it open.

It took him less than ten minutes to work out the right order, and with a strange sense of satisfaction, he pushed open the final panel. "Look at that ... it didn't need magic to open it after all." With a frown he reached inside and pulled out a silver chain at the end of which hung a tiny star-shaped crystal. Holding it up in the moonlight, Draco studied it. "Harry, what on earth is this?"

For a moment, he debated whether to just return it to the box, but with a shrug he pulled the chain over his head, tucking the little star inside his pyjama jacket. Then, reaching for the lion, Draco scrambled to his feet and padded across the room to the window where the moonlight spilled through.

He climbed onto the window seat, hugging his knees to him, and watched the moon.

Fifty miles away Harry woke with a start. One moment he had been sound asleep, the next he was wide-awake. He lay for a moment in the moonlit room trying to get his bearings. Yes, he was in a guesthouse in Glastonbury, and he could hear the soft deep breathing of his godfather who was asleep in the other bed.

Something had roused him from his sleep but he couldn't work out just what it was. Finally, he threw back his covers and tiptoed to the window. Outside the pretty garden below had been turned into an ice sculpture by the moonlight. All the colour had been washed out of the world just like it had been in his Earth Magic world.

Then he felt the sensation again ... the one that had woken him. It fluttered in his stomach, and in that moment he realised the truth. With a sob of relief, Harry rested his hand on the cool glass as though he could touch the moon.

Draco was alive.

-------------------------------------------------------

_Father made my history.  
He fought for what he thought would set us somehow free  
They taught me what to say in school  
I learned it all by heart but now that's torn in two._

_Through the Barricades_ - Spandau Ballet

-------------------------------------------------------

**Chapter 11:** The aftermath.

-------------------------------------------------------

**Author's Notes**

I know it's been a year since the last chapter. Real life things got in the way of writing and this chapter was also very difficult to write. I hope you've found it worth the wait. Thank you for your patience and your continued comments about this story. It's always great to get feedback.

**Special thanks:**

**To my Betas** (in alphabetical order): _Golden Snitch, Kupukello, Milena, Olivia, Nancy, Plumeria, Stacey_ and _Verdant._ I don't know where I would be without these people.

**To everyone at LiveJournal**, especially those of you who came up with some of the wonderful presents Draco received ..._phatphatkitty, aome, kokopoko, snottygrrl, kupukello, shezan, nightsinger, coversant _and_ nattgli._

**To everyone on at WorldsColliding** for their continued support and inspiration.

**To everyone who has reviewed. **I love reading your comments -- thank you so much for taking the time to write.

**Artwork: **

I am very lucky to have several new pieces of artwork drawn both for this chapter and for the previous chapters. All artwork is linked in the appropriate places throughout the chapter and I hope you enjoy the pieces by **Duckpuppy, ildi, Redrahl **and **She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named** as much as I have. The art by **Duckpuppy** wasn't actually drawn for Resolution, but she has been kind enough to let me link to it. If the links don't work, you can check it out at http/ I have recently updated the artwork section to, hopefully, include all the Resolution artwork drawn so far. If you've drawn something and it isn't there, please let me know.

**AnonFan:** The Boy (Chapter 9) .

**Amariel:** Draco skiing (Chapter 1); The Wizard's Challenge (Chapter 3).

**Duckpuppy: **Harry and Padfoot.

**ildi:** Sirius finds Harry at Malfoy Manor.

**Jeky and Ele:** Harry at the Valentine Ball (Chapter 3).

**Mijan: **The bath (Chapter 9).

**Redrahl:** Draco sitting by the window; Harry standing by the window.

**She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named:** Harry and Sirius on the motorbike.

The photo of **Harry** is from _Goblet of Fire_ and is copyright Warner Brothers.

**Glastonbury photographs:**These were taken by **Verdant **who has very kindly let me link to them in this chapter. I hope they help give the feel of the place Harry and Sirius visit. Photographs are copyright Verdant and may not be reproduced without her permission.

**The map of the Glastonbury Labyrinth** was taken from the _Mid-Atlantic Geomancy_ website. If you would like to know more about labyrinths, the site is worth visiting. http/ are two Yahoo groups associated with my stories:

The adult group for Resolution can be found at: WorldsColliding: The Restricted Section: http/groups. general group can be found at WorldsColliding. The R-rated version of Resolution and my non-slash story Coming of Age can be found here: http/groups. reviews are more than welcome, either here on the Fiction Alley Board (click on review), to me at frances. or feel free to post your comments at WorldsColliding.


	11. Consequences and Punishments

**Title: Resolution. Chapter 11: Consequences and Punishments (11/?) (WIP)**

**Author name: **Frances Potter

**Category:** Slash (Harry/Draco), Humour, Romance, Angst

**Keywords:** Harry, Draco, 7th year, Slash, AU

**Spoilers: **All books

**Rating:** PG13. Slash. Male/Male sexual relationship. Language. Adult themes.

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

The concept of Earth magic and seeing stones are both based loosely on ideas in "The Amtrak Wars" books by Patrick Tilley (published by Sphere).

-------------------------------------------------------

**Author's Notes**

I have struggled to upload this chapter to but it won't work. Please read at the following link:

www . worlds-colliding . co . uk / Resolution11.html

Copy the URL into your browser **BUT** take out the spaces.

Enjoy.

-------------------------------------------------------


End file.
